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HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, No. 1 Chambers St., New York. 



TEMPERANCE DIALOGUES 



DESIGNED FOB THE USE OF 



SCHOOLS, TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES, BANDS OP HOPE, 

DIVISIONS, LODGES, AND LITERARY 

CIRCLES. 



H. ELLIOTT McBBIDE, 



Atriaee of 



"McBride's Humorous Dialogues," "McBride's Comic Speeches and 

Recitations," "McBride's Comic Dialogues," "McBride's 

All Kinds of Dialogues," "Funny Fellows' 

Dialogues," etc., etc. 






New York: 



HAPPY HOURS COMPANY. 

r i 'J? ' 






Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1877, by 
O. A. ROORBACH, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



(U) 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Preface. v 

Acting Drunk. --.---.-.7 

Banishing the Bitters. -----.- 15 

•The Poisoned Darkys. --------29 

A Meeting of Liquor Dealers. ------ 37 

Out of the Depths. --- - . - - -49 

Arresting the March of Intemperance. - 63 

Maud's Command ; or, Yielding to Temptation. - - - 73 
A Beer Drinker's Courtship. - - - - - - 81 

Ralph Coleman's Keformation. - 95 

Barney's Resolution. -------- 107 

Commencing to Work. - - - - - - - -115 

A Temperance Meeting. ....... 121 

The Closing of the "Eagle." ...... 135 

Don't Marry a Drunkard to Keform Him. ... 153 

Obtaining a Promise. - - - 171 



(Hi) 



PKEFACE. 



It is a well-known fact that the representation on the 
stage of such plays as " The Drunkard," " Ten Nights in 
a Bar-Room," * The Bottle," " Fruits of the Wine Cup," 
etc., have been productive of much good. They have been 
powerful temperance lectures to those who would not listen 
to temperance lecturers. In view of this fact the author is 
led to believe that temperance dialogues may do some good, 
although of course it is not expected that they will accom- 
plish as much as the well-worded and well-arranged tem- 
perance dramas. And while it is believed that in the use 
of these Temperance Dialogues something may be effected 
in the reclaiming of those who are addicted to the use of 
strong drink, it is hoped that they will also be useful to 
teachers and others in preparing for school exhibitions and 
literary entertainments. 

In preparing these dialogues the author has aimed to 
(v) 



VI PREFACE. 

make them easy of representation. In a few cases costumes 
and properties will be required, but these can readily be 
procured, and there will be no difficulty in presenting all the 
pieces in a school-room or exhibition hall. 

The author is aware that in appearing before the public 
as a writer of temperance dialogues he is assuming a new 
and a difficult role, but he hopes his humble efforts to please 
may be accorded the same reception that was given to him 
on former occasions. 

H. Elliott McBride. 

Shirland, Allegheny Co., Pa, 



ACTING DEUNK. 



IN ONE SCENE. 



ffl 



ACTING DEUNK, 



CHARACTERS. 

John Jayne. 
Fred Manton. 
Joe Black. 
Mark Nixon. 



COSTUMES. —MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Table. Three chairs. Bottle for Joe Black. Tin cup for Fbed 
Manton. 



ACTING DRUNK 



Scene. — A Boom. Table c. Chairs about. 

Fred, Joe, and Mark discovered. 

Fred. I don't like John Jayne. He considers himself better than 
the rest of us, I think. 

J<>e. Yes, he seems to keep away as if he didn't want to associate 
with us. 

Murk. Well, I'm sure I don't desire the gentleman's company. 
He is at liberty to keep away if he wishes to. 

Fred, I wish we could bring him down. He holds his head too 
high. 

Mark. Oh, I would let him alone. If he doesn't trouble you, 
you needn't trouble him. 

Fred. But he ought to be brought down to his proper level. 

Joe. Well, if you want to lower him in the estimation of the peo- 
ple I can tell you how you can do it. 

Fred. That's just what I want to do. Let me know, for I want 
that high head to be bowed. 

Joe. Get him to drink whisky — in order words, make him drunk. 
That will bring him down. 

Fred. That's a good idea, but I'm afraid we can't get him to 
drink. 

Joe. We can try, anyhow ; and I think he can be persuaded. 

Fred. But where can we get the whisky? 

Joe. Oh, I have that. ( Takes out a small bottle. ) I always keep 
a little on hand. I have had a very severe cold and I find that 
it is a great benefit. In fact I couldn't get along without it. 

w 



.3 DRUNK. 
10 ACTIN< 

! That's just what the temperance 
Mark. (Laughing.) Ha! ha' commences to drink he can't get 

people say, when a young mari>P ose that y° u are on tue road to 

along without it. We may sui 

destruction. 1 P a °e. Will you have a taste ? 

Joe. Yes, and going at a rapid* all you have there, and you know 
Marie. Oh, no, I could drinl 

you want it for John Jayne. (Joe puts bottle in his pocket. 

Fred. Hush ! here he comes. 

in Jayne, l. 

Enter Joi . , , . , 
)u going to do to-day r 

John. Well, boys, what are yc*o the grove. Will you go with us? 

Med. I think we'll go down ia y« 

John. I believe I can't go to-d 36 n °t« 

Mark. (Aside. ) Oh, of cour you ever drink anything ? 

Joe. ( Taking out bottle. ) Dod coffee and cider, and I once tasted 

John. Oh, yes, I drink tea an 
•wine. it is not excellent wine. 

Joe. Taste this and tell me if : like to drink out of a bottle. Get 

John. Certainly, but I don't 
me a cup or a tumbler. » mighty particular. I could drink 

Mark. It seems to me you're 
it out of a bucket. tste so well taking it out of a bottle. 

John. But vou can't get the ts ( Takes bottle from Joe. 

(Exit Fred, r. 

Fred*. I can get you a tin cup. > y°" ? 

Joe. You are fond of wine, ar^g to like it. I didn't like it the 
John. I believe I am beginni 
first time I tasted it thout it. I take it for my cold. 

Joe. Some people can't live w* it will be good for my cold. 
John. (Coughing.) 1 suppose 
Joe. Excellent !' Drink it all. a with that cup. 
John. I wish Fred would com* 

a., with tin cup. 

Enter Frev, : you? (Takescup j Now I'll try 

John, Oh, you're back, are *ure my cold. (Coughs.) I have 
your wine and I hope it will good for a cold. (Pours out whisky 
often heard it said that wine was ^ good ! That's different from the 
and pretends to drink. ) Oh ! ho I guess the rest of it will be good 
wine I had before, but it's good. my cold. (Empties the bottle into 
forme. (Coughs.) It will cure It makes me feel better already. 
the cup and pretends to drink.) y eu't had such a cold for a long 
(Walks about the stage.) I ha 

time. id unobserved throws out the contents 

( Goes to one side of stage ai 
of the cup. tt's taking effect already. 

Joe. ( To Mark.) He! he! ] 



ACTING DRUNK. 11 



John. ( Walking across the stage and staggering slightly. ) _ Wine 
is a mighty good thing to have about the house. Yes, it is first 
rate — iu other words, it is excellent. I am going to have wine about 
the house ; or rather I'll have it iri the house— or about the house ; 
it doesn't make any difference which. But it ought to be somewhere 
around. 

Fred. (Aside to Joe and Make.) Isn't this jolly? We'll have 
Borne fun now. 

Joe. (Aeide to Feed.) And he won't carry his head so high when 
this is over. 

John. (Still walking around.) Wine may not be suitable for 
Borne people to drink, but it is suitable for me, *for I am so con- 
stituted that wine suits me, and when wine suits a person he ought 
to drink it — he shouldn't hesitate to drink it. We could not get 
along without wine. It is calculated to arouse a person — that is, 
it arouses him, as it were — it arouses all his energies, so to speak, 
and it makes him feel as if he could sing, whether he be a singer 
or not. Boys, shall I sing you a song ? 

Fred. Yes, sing us a song. 
' Joe and Mark. A song ! a song ! 

John. You know how it is with me — you know I am not really 
and in reality a regular and a well educated singer. In fact I am 
not a singer, because I have never sang any, but I can sing now. 
I believe I could sing better if I had some more of that grape of the 
juice. 

Joe. You drank it all. 

John. Yes, I know ; in other words, I know ; yes, I know ; I'm 
aware, or I might say I'm cognizant of the fact. But, you don't 
seem to understand. Is there no more wine in this town? Yes, I 
mean, in this old town. That bottle was a small bottle. But— let 
me see — I forgot-— — 

Mark. (Aside to Joe and Fred.) He's awful drunk. I 
wouldn't have thought such a little drop would have made him 
Bo foolish* 

Joe. (Aside to Mark and Fred.) Oh, this is splendid. But I 
want to hear him sing. (To John.) Didn't you say you would 
sing us a song ? 

, John. Yes, blieve did. Wha' zong'll you have. Wha' zong'll I 
sing — eh? (Sits doicn on a chair c. 

Mark. (Aside to Joe and Fred.) He's getting worse. I'm afraid 
we'll get into trouble. 

Joe. (Aside to Mark,) Pooh! you're always so easily fright- 
ened. All he got won't hurt him very much. Don't be a dunce 
now and we'll see some fun. (To John.) Can't 'you sing us that 
Bong now ? 

John. Wha'zong? Which zong? 

Joe. Oh, anything. Sing anything you wish. 



12 ACTING DBUNK. 

John. Well, I'll zing zong, but tell truth, I ain't much zinger. 

( Commences to whistle, 
Joe. I didn't ask you to whistle ; I asked you to sing. 
John. Jis' ze same. One's zanie as t'other and t'other zame as 
one. But I want to be 'bligin' an' zo I'll zing, because you gave 
me the wine — the pure grape of the juice. It's kiud o' roused me- 
up. (Rises, and then sits down immediately.) I b'lieve I won't 
stand ; I can sing jis* 'zwell standin' as sittin'. . 

(Sings " Kingdom Coming. " 

" Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa, 

Wid de muffstach on his face, 
Go 'long de road some time dis mornin' 

Like he gwine to leab de place? 
He seen a smoke 'way up de ribber 

Whar de Liukum gunboats lay ; 
He took his hat an' lef berry sudden, 

An' I 'spec' he's run away ! 

Chorus. De massa run ! ha ! ha ! 

De darkey stay ! ho ! ho \ 
It mus' be now de kingdom coming 
An' de year ob Jubilo !" 

Ain't I a good zinger conziderin' fac' I never sung any of no con- 
zequence or thereabouts? But I mus' git up an' walk around some 
for I do begin to feel somehow or a little, if not altogether, or at 
least sonewhat kind of queer. (Rises and walks about, staggering 
considerably. ) Now; while I am goin' roun' an' roun' I might say a 
few words to you about, or I might Speak to you about or — I believe 
I feel like talking now, but as far as I can see, this room is mighty 
shaky. Did you ever see a room act so shabby before ? It seems 
to me that it is trying to lift me off its feet, or perhaps I should 
say, off my feet, but it can't do that, for when I set a foot down 
it is there. (Sets his foot down heavily- J But as I was going to say 
to you boys who are before me. (Falls. 

Mark. (Aside to Joe and Feed.) There he's down. I guess I'll 
go home. I'm afraid we'll get into trouble. 

Joe. (Aside to Male.) Yes, now, run away like a coward! 
Don't be a dunce. He'll get oyer it in a short time. 

John. (Rises.) I knew this room would get upset if it kept 
going round that way. It serves it right too ; let it keep still. 

Joe. ( Trying to laugh. ) Ha ! ha ! Oh ! this is so funny. 

Mark. (Aside to Joe.) Well, I'm sure I can't see any fun in 
it. 

John. What's funny? Funny to see the room falling over? 
Well, I should think so. Served it right, didn't it ? It might have 
kept sober. 



ACTING DRUNK. 13 

Joe. Couldn't you sing another song? 

John. Yes, I can sing half a dozen songs, or I might say I can 
sing you a dozen. ( Tries to walk and falls. ) There ! the room has 
tumbled over again. But let it lie there. I can sing anyhow. 

(Sits up and sings. 

"The Eagle of Columbia, in majesty and pride, 
Still sours aloft in glory, though traitors have defied 
The flag we dearly cherish — the emblem of our will — 
Baptised in the blood of heroes 'way down on Bunker Hill. 

Chorus. Sam built the wagon, 

The old Union wagon, 
The star crested wagon, 
To give the boys a ri4e. 

Mark. Hush ! I think there is some one at the door. 

Joe. Oh, now, don't be frightened. 

John. (Rises. ) , I think I'll walk around awhile. 

Fred. The room has got up again, hasn't it? 

John. Yes, sir ; yes, siree. The room has got up again, and 
why shouldn't it? I have got up too, and isn't that right? Why 
should a man lie on the floor all day? "I come not here to talk." 
Boys, I have been to Mexico. 

Joe. (Laughs.) Hatha! And you got shot, didn't you ? 

John. I saw three Mexicans and they thought I was shot, but I 
wasn't. I was only acting. The three Mexicans wanted to slaughter 
me. Ah ! they were naughty Mexicans. 

Joe. (Aside to Mark and Fred.) I don't believe he's drunk. 

Mark. (Aside to Joe.) He's been acting. 

John. Now I appeal to you, boys, was it right, was it noble, was 
it honorable in those three Mexicans to try to make me drunk? 

Mark. No, it wasn't, and I can say that one of the Mexicans is 
heartily ashamed of himself. 

Joe. Well, if you are not drunk you certainly drank enough 
whisky to make you drunk. 

John. I didn't drink a drop of your nasty whisky ; I threw it out 
of the tin cup. 

Fred. John, I'll tell you all about it now. You've been holding 
your head too high lately, and we thought we'd bring you down. 
You can hardly see Joe and me. 

John. That's because you have been carrying that bottle and 
indulging in card playing. I doa't consider myself any better 
than 3011, bift I will not associate with men who drink and play 
cards. I will not. And now, boys, I have this to say, you are 
on dangerous ground. I will not enlarge on the subject and 
read you a temperance lecture. You know the folly of your 
course. You know, too, that when boys of your age commence 



14 ACTING DBUNK. 

to carry bottles of whisky in their pockets, they are getting 
along pretty well on the road to destruction. Will you stop, or 
will you continue ? 

Mark. I, for one, will stop. I haven't yet commenced to drink, 
but I have been gambling. I will do so no more. 

Jolin. And what say you, Joe and Fred ? 

Joe. I'll drop the bottle ; I'll drink no more. 

Fred. And I say the same. 

John. I am indeed rejoiced to hear you say so, and since so 
much good has com© of it,. I am glad that I, for once, indulged in 

ACTING DBUNK. 



Disposition of Characters, 






C0BTAIN. 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. 



IN THREE SCENES, 



(15) 



BANISHING THE BITTEES. 



CHARACTERS. 

Me. William Scott, A man who takes his Bitters. 

Mrs. Mary Scott, His wife. 

Arthur Scott, Their son. 

Hiram Slope, A temperance Yankee. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Table. Chairs. Cupboard. Bottle. Glasses. Breakfast set. 
Tin wash basin. Pitcher with water in. Bottle for Arthur. Pow- 
dered sugar in a paper and piece of liquorice root for Hiram. 



(16) ) 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. 



Scene I. — A Kitchen. Table a, with breakfast set on it. Chairs. 
Cupboard at back, with bottle and glasses in it. Doors r. and l. 

Mr. Scott seated r. Mrs. Scott engaged in preparing breakfast. 

Mr. Scott. I must have my bitters this morning as I feel kind of 
squeamish. I suppose breakfast is nearly ready ? 

Mrs. Scott. Yes. But, William, I think you should give up this 
habit of drinking bitters before your meals. I fear it will lead to 
something serious. 

Mr. S. Pooh ! Mary, you are too easily frightened. Haven't 
I been using bitters now for two years? You don't think I'm goiug 
to turn out a drunkard, do you? 

Mrs. S. It is hard to tell what a man will turn to when he once 
commences to drink. Five years ago Samuel Johnston wouldn't 
taste liquor, and what is he now? A disgusting drunkard who will 
soon go to his grave. 

Mr. S. ' But, Mary, you know I have a mind of my own. Do 
you really think that I will become another Sam Johnston? 

Mrs. S. William, I fear it very much. You know, as the lec- 
turer told us last night, when a man acquires the taste he goes 
onward with great rapidity. The only safe course is to abstain 
altogether. 

Mr. S. Oh, you're too easily alarmed. I only drink three times a 
day to give me an appetite for my meals, and I do not drink brandy 
and whisky, but bitters. 

Mrs. S. And your bitters are composed of brandy with a few 
(17) 



18 BANISHING THE BITTEES. 



pieces of bark thrown in to make it appear like medicine. Now 
William, in all sincerity I ask you to give up the use of these 
bitters. They are doing you no good and they may do you a great 
deal of harm. 

Mr. 8. Well, Mary, I can inform you in plain words that I 
shall do nothing of the kind. I suppose I know when I'm safe 
and when I'm in danger. I drink but three times a day and that 
will injure nobody, I'm going to have my bitters in the future 
just as I have had in the past, and you need not trouble yourself 
any further about it. 

Enter Arthur Scott, r. 

Arthur. (Yawning.) Father, I'd like to have some of your bit- 
ters this morning ; I don't feel very well. 

Mr. S. Well, sir, you can't have any. Don't speak of such a 
thing. What do you want bitters for? 

Arthur. I told you I wanted them because I didn't feel very 
well. You take them, don't you, when you don't feel very well? 
And if they are good for you I suppose they ought to be good 
for me. 

Mr. 8. Don't speak of such a thing. You are not twenty years 
of age yet, and it would be absurd for you to take bitters. I am 
getting old and it is necessary for me to take them in order to keep 
my appetite sharpened. 

Arthur. Well, my appetite needs sharpening this morning, and 
if I can't get bitters I suppose I'll have to take something else. 

(Exit Arthur, l. 

Mrs. 8. There, you see what your example is doing. Arthur 
must have his bitters too. I have seen him at your bottle once 
already. 

Mr. 8. He has been at my bottle, has he? I'll teach him to 
keep away from my bottle. Where do you suppose he has gone 
now? 

Mrs. 8. (Going to window.) He's going down the street, and 
as true as I live he's gone into the saloon. (Sinks into a chair. ) 
Oh, I feared it would come to this. 

Mr. S. (Springing up.) Gone into the saloon, has he? The 
young dog, I'll bring him out of that. (Exit Mr. Scott, hastily, l. 

Mrs. 8. Oh, if my son should become a drunkard ! I can't bear 
the thought of it. What must I do 9 

Enter Hiram Slope, l. 

'Hiram. Wall, I've got the chores all done and I s'posed as 
heow the breakfast was abeout ready and so I come in. 
Mrs. 8. Breakfast will be ready in a short time, Hiram. 
Hiram. Wall, teu tell the truth I ain't quite ready fur break- 



BANISHING- THE BITTERS. 19 



fast, fur I hain't got myself washed yet. I only wash once afore 
breakfast, but there was Uncle Josh Perkins, he fillers washed twice. 
He would wash his face and hands as soon as he got up and 
then he would go and feed the pigs and things and then he would 
come in and wash ag'in and then he would sit deown and wait 
till they got breakfast ready, (lakes wash basin and gets loater 
to wash. ) Uncle Josh was a man as allers riz purty airly in the 
moruin'. He didn't believe in losin' time by lyin* in bed. (Hiram 
is about to go out, when the door l. is dashed open and the basin 
knocked out of his hand.) Hullo! thunder and lightnin' ! what's 
the meanin' of all this ? 

Enter Mr. Scott, dragging in Arthur, l. 

Mr. S. There, you young dog, you'll go to the saloon, will 
you? I declare I have a good mind to take a cowhide and give 
you a good walloping. Didn't you know better? Didn't you know 
I wouldn't allow you to go inside of a saloon? 

Arthur. Didn't I see you in that saloon a few days ago? And 
didn't I see you drinking with John Harney ? 

Mr. S. Well, can't I drink with an old friend when I am invited 
to do so? If I went into the saloon it was no reason that you should 

g°. 

Arthur. I supposed if it was safe for you to go in it would 
be safe for me. And if bitters make you feel well in the morn- 
ings I don't see why they shouldn't make me feel well. If you 
had given me a taste of your bitters I wouldn't have gone to the 
saloon. 

Mr. S. You mustn't talk to me, sir. I won't have it, and I 
tell you plainly that if I ever know you to go into that sajoon 
again I'll give you a sound thrashing. Do you understand me? 

Arthur. Yes, sir. ( Going r. 

Mr. S. Where are you going? Don't you want any breakfast? 

Arthur. No, sir ; I can't eat any breakfast. 

Mr. S. If you don't feel very well, I s'pose you'd better have some 
of my bitters. They are a kind of a medicine and they're mighty 
good for the appetite. ( Goes to cupboard, pours some of the bitters 
into a tumbler and hands it to Arthur, 10/10 drinks it. ) I couldn't 
get along without these bitters. 

Hiram. (Aside.) Thuy deration ! That's a good way to bring 
up a boy. • Drag him home from the saloon and then give him just 
what he went arter. 

Arthur. (Handing the tumbler to his father.) I feel a great deal 
better. 

_ Mr. S. These are a very good kind of bitters and never fail to 
give an appetite. Will you have some, Hiram ? 

Hiram. Gosh, no ! My appetite's purty extraordinary now. 



20 BANISHING THE BITTEES. 



Mr. 8. When I feel unwell I take a sip of these bitters and I feel 
all right. (Puts the bottle to his lips and drinks. 

Hiram. (Aside. ) Wall, I kalkilate if yeou take a few more pulls 
like that yeou'll have the hic-coughs purty soon. 

Mr. S. Now, if breakfast is ready we will eat. 

Arthur. I believe I will not eat now. I will be down in half an 
hour. (Exit Akthur, e. 

Hiram. I hain't washed myself yet. This rumpus has kinder 
knocked me sorter # wrong. ( Gets water in wash basin again.) If 
breakfast is ready yeou needn't wait on me. 

(Exit Hiram, with wash basin. I/. 

Mr. S. I suppose Arthur feels badly because I took him out of tha 
saloon and brought him home. 

Mrs. S. And it comes out that you have been drinking in that 
saloon. 

Mr. S. Oh, I only went in with an old friend. 

Mrs. S. William, I did not think you would go in there with 
anybody. May I inquire how often you have been in that grog 
shop. 

Mr. S. Oh, only a few times. 

Mrs. S. Only a few times. I thought you didn't drink any- 
thing but bitters and drank that only three times a day. Ah ! 
William, this is a sad day for me. I have discovered that my 
husband and sou have both acquired a taste for intoxicating 
liquors, and that they are well started on the road to become 
drunkards. 

Mr. S. Mary, don't make a fool of yourself. Don't I know what 
I'm doing? Don't I know that intemperance is a dreadful thing? 
Of course I do. I'll not stop for breakfast ; you've made me ner- 
vous. You needn't wait. (Exit Mr. Scott, r. 

Mrs. S. (Sadly.) I have no heart to do anything now. The 
future looks dark and gloomy. This affair in the saloon will be the 
talk of the entire village. 

Enter Hiram, l. 

Hiram. I'm ready now fur breakfast and I'm gittin' purty hungry 
too. Where's Mr. Scott gone? 

Mrs. S. He has gone out. He said he didn't care for breakfast 
this morning. 

Hiram. (Aside. ) Wall, it 'pears to me that them bitters instead 
of sharpenin' appetites is takin' 'em away altogether. 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. 21 



Scene II. — A Boom in Mr. Scott's House. Table c. Chairs. 
Doors r. and l. 

Arthur discovered. 

Arthur. I suppose the governor thinks be has me under bis 
thumb now, but be hasn't, if I know myself, and I tbink I do. If 
be badn't dragged me out of tbe saloon and dragged me borne I 
wouldn't bave commenced to drink so bard, but now I'm going 
to go it. I'll sbow tbe old cbap tbat be can't take me by tbe collar 
and drag me through tbe streets of the village. It has been tbe 
talk of the village now for several days. But I'll show the people 
that the dragging didn't have the desired effect ; I'll show them 
that instead of making me stop drinking it has made me drink 
more. • I'm going to go it recklessly now ; I'm going to enjoy 
myself. I've got some of the cheering liquid now concealed about 
my person. Here it is. ( Takes out bottle. ) I'll take a pull. (Puts 
bottle to his mouth and drinks. ) That's delicious. It's cheering and 
enlivening too. I feel like another person when I get a good square 
drink. One more taste. ( Drinks again. 

Enter Mrs. Scott, r. 

Mrs. S. Oh, Arthur, is it possible that you are giving way and 
rushing blindly on to destruction ? You certainly know what a 
dreadful thing it is to be a drunkard. Ob, Arthur, -my darling boy, 
I implore you do not, oh, do not touch the cursed stuff again. 

Arthur, (Rising and walking about with an unsteady step.) 
Mother, there isn't any use in getting up a scene. I know what 
I'm doing — yes, I know what I'm doing — I know perfly well. 
The governor drinks bitters to give him an appetite Rud I drink 
too to give me an appetite. (Laughs.) Hal ha! Tbe governor 
knows what he's about and so do I. He brought me home from 
the saloon in a hurry, but I suppose it would bave been just as 
well if he had left me alone. The governor ain't boss of all creation 
■ — no, be ain't. I'm big enough to be my own boss, and I'm goiug 
to get on a regular big spree just to see what it is like. I guess 
I can afford to go on a tare, for I won't have nothing to do and 
Hiram's here to attend to things. (Mrs. Scott sits down and weeps. ) 
Now look here, mother, you needn't make any fuss about it. If 
you want to commence the work of reformation commence on 
the old man. He's drinking pretty hard, but he's biding it from 
you. If you want to become a temperance lecturer commence and 
lecture the governor. He's the head of the house and he sets 
the example. If you can reform him then you may come to me. 
But as long as the governor drinks I'll drink — I'm, determined 
on that. Old governor will take me by the collar and pull me out 
of a saloon, will be ? Yes, he did, and he had been there several 



22 BANISHING THE BITTERS. 



times himself, and he drinks bitters too. He doesn't want me to 
drink, but he drinks. Doesn't want me to go to destruction, but 
he's going himself. 

Mrs. 8. ( Looking up. ) Oh, Arthur, is there nothing I can say 
that will induce you to turn from your evil course? Oh, I implore 
you, do not run this great risk ; do not ruin your hopes of happiness 
in this world and in the world to come. And oh, I beseech you, 
do not break your mother's heart. 

Arthur. Look here, mother, I've been drinking a good deal ; 
fact is I've been going it pretty strong since the old man pulled 
me out of the saloon, but I know what I'm doing and I know 
what I'm saying. Here's what I've got to say : If you will lecture 
the old man and get him to stop drinking his bitters then I'll 
stop drinking too. But according to the way I look at things 
and viewing objects iu their natural light and beholding the sur- 
roundings as they ought to be beheld, I haven't any hesitation — ho, 
no hesitation — none whatever, in saying and making known to you 
that there isn't a particle of use in your trying to stop me drinking 
while the old man is still going on. But, as I before took occasion 
to intimate, if the old man stops his guzzling of bitters then I'll stop 
my guzzling of brandy which is about the same as the old man's 
bitters. He talks about drinking bitters to sharpen his appetite. 
That's a good one. His appetite's as sharp as a razor now. That's 
all gammon. He likes the brandy and he puts in a piece of bark 
half an inch square to give it the name and the appearance of 
medicine. Old woman, when I say anything— that is, when I 
make a proposition, or, in other words, when I say I'll do a thing 
I'll do it, even if it should take the head off me. Now there's au 
open field before you— a great temperance field — and you can go 
in and slasW around. Get the old man to stop his drinking and 
then you will have two names on your list of persons saved from 
destruction and the drunkard's grave and all those things. There's 
a splendid chance for you. I suppose you understand the case, 
but fearing that you do not I will state to you that if you persuade 
the governor, which is another name for William Scott — if yon 
persuade the governor to give up drinking brandy and bitters 
then you need say nothing to me, for just as soon as William Scott 
stops drinking then Arthur Scott stops drinking. Arthur Scott 
is the son ot William Scott. William Scott drinks bitters ; Arthur 
Scott drinks brandy. Arthur Scott is a man and doesn't go behind 
a little piece of bark to get his brandy. He takes it square and 
plain. I'm making the case very plain to you, mother, but it is 
better to do so. I know I'm not quite square now — I've been 
taking several pulls at my bottle for the purpose of getting on a 
tare — I never was on a tare — but I know what I'm saying and as 
soon as William Scott stops drinking bitters I'll stop drinking 
brandy, but not before. He tears me out of a saloon for the pur- 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. 23 



pose of preventing me from going on a tare, but that tear by the 
governor only made me more resolved to go upon a tare, I'm on a 
tare now. (Drinks out of his bottle.) Mother, will you have a 
taste? I suppose you won't indulge, as you are going to enter the 
field as a temperance lecturer. Well, go ahead and give the gover- 
nor a scorching lecture ; pile it on heavy, and then when he stops 
drinking bitters I'll stop drinking brand}'. I suppose he thinks 
that he can stop my drinking, and continue to drink himself. He 
can't do that. I'm a Scott and the Scott's have some fire, also 
some pluck, also some determination. (Endeavors to walk around 
the room and staggers.) Hi ! ho ! I b'lieve there's something 
wrong. 

Mrs. S. Oh, Arthur, has it come to this ? (Exit Mrs. Scott, r. 

Arthur. Has it come to this? Has it come to what? (Falls.) 
I believe I'll sit down and elucidate that problem. Has it come 
to this? Has it come to what? We will let x equal the — let me 
see — has it come to this ? I believe it is beyond 1113' understand- 
ing, I'll give it up and sip some more nectar from my bottle. 

(Drinks. 
Enter Mrs. and Mr. Scott, b. 

Mrs. S. (Pointing to Arthur, who is seated on the floor drinking.) 
There ! you see what you have brought him to. 

Mr. S. ( In a rage. ) You young dog, what are you doing here ? 
(Snatches the bottle oat of Ids hand and dashes it on the floor.) You'll 
get drunk, will you? Leave my house ; get out instantly. 

Arthur-. (Rising.) Governor, you shouldn't talk that way. 
You've been drinking bitters and you're drunk ; yes, sir ; awful 
drunk. 

Mr. 8. (Taking him by the collar.) You, dog, you scoundrel, 
will you talk that way tome? ( Leading him to the door l.) Now, 
sir, go. (Hurls him out.) Never enter my house again. 

Mrs. 8. (Rushing out after Arthur.) Oh, my poor Arthur. 

Mr. S. I'm in such a rage I can hardly contain myself. My son, 
a boy of twenty, sitting here drinking out of a bottle ! My boy 
drunk ! What shall I do ! Shall I go out and give him a severe 
thrashing ? No, I'll let him go. Henceforth he is no son of mine. 
He sha'n't come in here again. 

Enter Mrs. Scott, l. 

Mrs. S. William, I fear you have hurt Arthur. Won't you come 
out and see him ? 

Mr. 8. (Sternly.) No! Go out to see a drunken dog ? Never! 
I don't care if I have killed him. He shan't disgrace mo. 

Mrs. S. If you had spoken kindly to him. you might have ac- 
complished more. 



24 BANISHING THE BITTERS. 



Mr. S. Mary, stop your talk. Do you want him to be a drun- 
kard? 

Mr. S. No, but who brought him to this ? "Whose example has 
he been following ? Did he not see you drinking three times a day ? 
Did he not see you in the saloon drinking? 

Mr. S. I'll give him to understand that I can drink where I 
choose. 

Mrs. S. And he will drink as long as you do. 

Mr. S. Let him drink himself into eternal damnation if he wants 
to. Henceforth he is no son of mine. 

Mrs. S. Will you turn him out and discard him for doing that 
which you do yourself? 

Mr. S. Madam, when did I ever get drunk ? 

Mrs. S. No, you never got drunk, but it is quite probable that 
he has taken no more liquor this morning than you take every day. 
The difference lies in the fact that he is more easily intoxicated than 
you are. Now, William, I ask" you again, will you not give it up? 
Oh, I implore you, drink no more. If you go on, our once happy 
family will be separated. The home ties will be broken and Ar- 
tl will be a wanderer. If you will stop drinking he will ; he has 
saia so. 

Mr. S. Did he dare to say that ? I'm in a rage. The impudence 
of the boy is unparalleled. ( Exit r. 

Mrs, S. Oh ! the troubles that are coming upon us ! If Arthur 
should be sent away how can I live? (Exit l. 



Scene III. — Same as Scene 1. 
Hiram Slope discovered seated with a large bottle in his hand. 

Hiram. Wall, I kalkilate Mr. Scott will begin tew think that his 
bitters air gittin' mighty bitter. I'll put something into 'em that 
will cure him of his desire tew have a taste afore every meal. I've 
hearn it said that this medicine is purty good tew enable a man 
tew stop driukin' fur it gives some people a mighty dislike tew in- 
toxicatin' liquors. ( Pids a powder into the bottle and shakes it. J I'd 
like mighty well if Mr. Scott would stop his drinkin', lur he's a rael 
nice old gentleman. But if he keeps on there will be trouble. I 
might say that the trouble has commenced already. Mr. Scott lifts 
sent Arthur away from home and Mrs. Scott is taken on dreadful 
about it. I pit}' her fur she is a mighty nice woman. When things 
air in sich an onsettled state I think it is my duty tew regelate and 
reconstruct, and this I think I'm doin' in puttin' this medicine into 
these here bitters. (Shakes the bottle.) This thing of drinkin' 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. 25 

liquor is one of the dreadfulest evils of the present day. It is settin' 
father ag'in son — we have an example of that here — and it is smashin' 
np families and destroyin' domestic peace— an<f we have an example 
of that here too. Oh, I'm mighty glad I never tuck to drink, if I 
had, 1 wouldn't have riz in the world as I'm doiu' now, and I could 
not have had a reasonable prospect of gittin' the hand of Rebecca 
Beliuda. I wonder lieow she's gittin' along anyhow. I think her 
letter is a mighty long time abeout comin'. ( Rises. ) But I mustn't 
lose no time. I got up purty airly this mornin' tew git these bitters 
fixed up and neow I'll set them up and absquatulate afore the old 
gentleman comes in ; and he'll come purty soon too, fur when a man 
gits tew likin' liquor he wants tew git a taste purty airly in the morn- 
in'. (Places bottle in the cupboard.) The Old gintlemau will come 
in purty soon and take a pull and I reckon he'll feel mighty squawm- 
ish arterwards. It would be a great blessiu' to this family if this 
would be his last pull at the bottle of bitters. (Exit l. 

Enter Mrs. Scott, b. 

Mrs. S. It is with a heavy heart that I now commence my. daily 
round of duties. A few days have made a great change, and al .:* (Ugh 
I feared trouble would come, I had no thought that I wouia be 
obliged to meet it so soon. Arthur is gone, but he is at his uncle's. 
He must be brought back or he may leave this place and never re- 
turn. I think his falher is beginning to relent. But here he comes 
for his morning's draught. 

Enter Mb. Scott, b. 

Mr. S. ( Going to cupboard and taking down the bottle of bitters.) 
I don't feel^very well this morning. (Mrs. Scott proceeds with her 
work and doesn't reply.) I think I'll be all right when I get my 
bitters. 

Mrs. S. My husband, let me again ask you to give up this habit 
of drinking. Bring Arthur home again and let us all be happy as in 
the days gone by. 

Mr. S. Well, I'll think the matter over. (Drinks.) Whew! 
( Spits Old the liquor. ) "What's the matter with the bitters? Wliew ! 
(Spits again. ) Did yon put anything in this bottle ? 

Mrs. S. No, I didn't. 

Mr. S. It's awful. Whew! ( Spits again. ) I suppose it has been 
standing too long and the heat has spoiled it. Ugh ! the nasty stuff. 
It makes me feel sick. (Sits down.) I wonder if anybody could 
have put poison in my bitters. ( Starting up. ) Wife, a fearful idea 
has struck me. I believe Arthur has poisoned me. He would do 
anything now. 

Mrs. S. Pooh! what nonsense! Arthur wouldn't do such a. 
thing. 



26 BANISHING THE BITTERS. 

Mr. S. I believe he would. I have sent him away and he is very 
angry. Call Hiram. 

Mrs. S. ( Going tmdoor l. and calling. ) Hiram ! 
Hiram. (Outside.) Yes, ma'am, I'm a comin'. 

Enter Hiram, l. 

Hiram. Anything broke ? 

Mr. S. Hiram ! ( Trying to vomit. ) Ook ! ook ! 

Hiram. You seem tew have got into a diffikilty. 

Mr. ' S. Hiram ! ( Trying to vomit. ) Ook ! ook ! ah ! 

Hiram. Yes, I see. I s'pose them bitters was the cause of it. 

Mr. S. Ook ! ook ! Did you — ook — put any poison in my bottle 
of bitters? # 

Hiram. Sich a question to me ! Why, sir, I'm the son of Heze- 
kiah Slope and Ebenezer Slope is an uncle of mine, and did yeou 
ever know a Slope tew dew anything mean or try tew pizen anybody? 
No. never! It I should dew sich a thing as that I would never 
hold up my head ag'in, and Kebecca Belinda Wiggins wouldn't have 
nothiu' more tew say tew me. I wouldn't try tew pizen an\ body, 
and as tew puttin' pizen in your bittern, I say emphatically, no 
sir-ee ! I didn't dew nothin' of the kind. I s'pose yeou feel purty 
sick ! 

Mr. S. Ook ! ook ! Yes, I think you had better run for the 
doctor. 

Hiram. The doctor isn't at home ; I saw him go deown the road 
a few minutes ago. But yeou needn't be skeery. My marm — her 
name's Melissa Slope, but it was Melissa Jenkins afore she was 
married — she knows consid'able abeout yarbs and I've larnt some- 
thin' too. I've got a bit of a root in my pocket. (Takes it out. ) 
Eat it and yeou'll feel all right ag'in. 

Mr. S. ( Taking the root and commencing to eat. ) I'll eat it but 
I don't think it will do me any good. I think I'm poisoned. Ook ! 
ook ! ah ! I wish I hadn't tasted the confounded bitters this morn- 
ing. 

Mrs. S. I wish you had never tasted the bitters. We would have 
been happier to-day. 

Hiram. Bitters air a confounded bad thing tew have abeout a 
house. 

Mr. S. I believe I'll stop drinking them. * 
Mrs. S. (Going to her husband.) Oh, will you? (She takes his 
hand and prds Iter arm around her neck.) Dear husband, say that 
you will and we can again be very happy. 

Hiram. (Aside.) Wall, if they're goin' tew git up a scene I 
s'pose I'd better step eout. Hello>! here comes Arthur. 

Erder Arthur, l. 

Arthur. Father, I am truly sorry for what I have said and done. 
Can you forgive me ? 



BANISHING THE BITTERS. * 27 

Mr. 8. (Rising and taking his hand.) Certainly, certainly, and 
I am glad you Lave returned. I bad about decided tbat I would 
go over for you to-day. I bave begun to see tbat I am as mucb iu 
tbe wrong as you. We bave botb gone astray. But I bave taken 
my last drink of bitters— I bave taken my last drink of intoxicating 
liquors, and by the help of the Lord I will endeavor to do right and 
nevermore touch, taste or handle the accursed stuff. 

Arthur. And I bave made a vow of the same kind. I bave been 
miserable since I went away, and I come borne this morning to ask 
your forgiveness. I bave caused my mother great anxiety and un- 
happinessand I determined to come home and endeavor to do better. v 
I now say to you botb that*another drop of intoxicating liquor shall 
never touch my lips. 

Mrs. S. Husband and" son restored to me and tbe accursed poison 
banished from tbe bouse. Now I can rejoice and be glad ; now we 
can be as happy as in tbe days gone by. My heart overflows in 
thankfulness. 

Hiram. And mine does too. I'm thankful because Arthur has 
returned ; I'm thankful because the old gentleman is goiu' tew pitch 
eout tbe bitters ; I'm thankful because peace has been restored, ( to 
audience) and I'm thankful for yeour kind attention tew our little 
dialogue. In conclusion, I would say that I take some credit tew 
myself fur assistin' in banishing the bittees. 



Disposition of Characters. 



0. 



^ 






CUETAIN. 



THE POISONED DARKYS. 

IN ONE SCENE. 



(29) 



THE POISONED DAKKYS. 



CHARACTERS. 



Felix Fogg, A New England Farmer, 
sSo,j Colored farm tends. 



COSTUMES.— FARMERS', 



PROPERTIES. 
Jug for Felix. 



(30) 



THE POISONED DARKYS. 



Scene. — A Boad. 
Felix Fogg discovered with a jug in his hand. 

Felix. (Setting down the jug.) Wall, I feel purty outrageous mean 
goiu' along the road this way, swiugiu' a jug ; and I bev abeout 
made up my mind that this is the last jug I will carry fur anybody. 
I railly don't think I would carry another jug fur eour preacher or 
tbe President of the United States or Queen Victory. It allers makes 
me feel kiuder not at home ; and then when I meet any of my 
neighbors I hev tew git at and explain that the rum isn't fur me 
but fur old Mrs. Winkerton, who puts somethin' or euotber intew 
it and makes bitters eout of it. And jest as like us not the half 
of the people don't believe me, aud they'll say, "He's a purty 
man, ueow isn't he? — tryin' tew blame it on old Mrs. Winkerton 
and "he's jest a drinkin' it himself. That's purty work for Felix 
Fogg, and he a deacon in the church !" Yes, I jist s'pose the people 
air say in' them things abeout me. I hev carried this old jug three 
times neow fur old Mrs. Winkerton, but I declare I won't carry it 
another time — no, I will not. She's an old cripple and can't git 
areound aud I hev tuck pity on her, but I ain't goin' tew take no 
more pity, aud if she wants rum fur tew make bitters she must send 
some other feller or go herself. I've done all I'm goin' tew dew in 
tbat line. It 'pears tew me she's usin' rather more bitters than she 
ought tew use, and I've been a thinkin' that somebody ought tew 
call areound and ax her tew sign the pledge. (Looking off a, ) I 

(31) 



32 THE POISONED DARKYS. 

declare Tom Oakley's keows hev broke intew his oats field. They'll 
dew a sight of damage if they git tew stay there long. Them two 
darkys of Tom's can't be attendin' tew their business or they'd see 
that the keows air in the oats. But that's jist like them two darkys ; 
they ain't of no ackeount, noheow. I reckon I'd better run and put 
them keows eout. Tom Oakley's a purty nice feller and he'd dew 
that much fur me. I reckon I'd better set this jug clus intew the 
fence so as nobody will find it. I don't want old Mrs. Winkerton 
tew dew witheout her bitters neow when I hev carried the jug tins 
fur. J Takes up jug and sets it at back of stage.) Neow I'll git arter 
them keows. ( Shouts as he goes out. ) Here, Tow ser ! Here, Tow- 
ser! (Exit B. — speaking outside.) Ketch them keows! Hi hi! 
whoop 1 

Enter Jeff and Sambo, caidiously, l. 

Jeff. 'Sh ! Step purty easy till he gits away a piece. 

Sambo. Dat's Massa Fogg dat's runnin* arter dem cows, ain't 
it! 

Jeff. Ignowommus ! ob course it is* Don't yo' know de people 
aroun' heah yet? 

Sambo. I declar' I wasn't quite suah. Dat new hat makes a won- 
derful change in his countenance. 'Spec' he's jes' been to de village 
gettin' his jug filled. 

Jeff. Yes, that's it. (Laughs.) Hi! yah! yah! Hear him hol- 
lerin' at dem cows. (Shouts heard us if in the disla>ice.) He's a 
gemman, he is, fo' dribin' out dem cows ; it sabos us de trouble. 
( lakes up jug and laughs. ) Yah ! yah ! Now, Sambo, we can hab 
a nip ob somefin' purty good. I habn't had nuffin' ob de kind for a' 
lon<j time. 

Sambo. (Rubbing his hands and dancing about.) Oh, golly, I's 
jes' been wantin' a taste out ob dat delicious jug. Massa Oakley 
don't keep nuffin' ob dat 'scription around him. Jeff, hurry up an' 
take a nip ; I's dyiu' to git some. 

Jeff. Don't git 'cited now 'bout nuffin. We can take seberal 
drinks afo' he gits dem cows out. But I's gwine to commence. 
(Raises the jug and takes a drink. ) Um! ah! Dat's' de best liquor 
dat I hab ebber tasted. 

Sambo. (Impatiently. ) Let me hab a nip. Don't keep me wait- 
in' all day. I's jes' a mos' dyin' to git a taste, 

Jeff. (Handing him the jug. ) Heah, den. But don't act de pig 
an' take too much, or Massa Oakley may find it out an' discharge 
yo'. 

Sambo. Oh, I'll be mighty ca'ful 'bout dat. 

(Puts jug to his mouth and drinks. 

Jeff. Dar now, you's got 'miff. (Sambo takes jug down.) Yo' 
ain't cap'ble ob handliu' a jug. (Jeff takes Vie jug. 

Sambo. Oh, I know what I'm 'bout ; yo' nebber could git me tos- 
sicated ; I's allers lookin' out fo' dat. 



THE POISONED DA.RKYS. 33 

Jeff. (Setting down the jug.) Dis is splendum fun— heap nicer 
dan hoein' com iu dat cornfield. (Laughs. ) Yah ! yah ! yah ! 

S'tmbo. Yes, dat's so. (Lauqlts.) Yah ! yah ! yah ! 

Jeff. I wish dem cows would keep him runuin' all day ober dat 
oats' field. (Laughs.) Yah! yah! yah! 

S<imbo. Den wouldn't we hab a good time? (Laughs.) Yah! 
yah ! yah ! 'Spose it's 'bout time to take auodder drink. 

(Stoops to take, up the jug. 

Jeff. Sambo, let dat 'lone. I tuck de fust drink afo' an' 1 take de 
fust drink again. You'd better be ca'ful, Sambo, or yo'll git too 
much. ( Takes the jug. 

Sambo. (Laughs. ) Yah ! yah ! yah ! No danger ob me gittin* 
'tossicated. I's allers mighty ca'ful 'bout dat Go ahead an' take 
yet driuk. I's gittiu' mos' awful dry. 

Jeff. Yes, I s'pose I had better be drinkin' fo' mebbe dat man's 
got dem cows driv out. (Looking off b.) I don't see nuffiu' ob 
dem. 

Sambo. Golly, den, drink purty quick. He'll mebbe step in heah 
troo de cornfield an' 'scover what we've been doin'. Den he'll tell 
JVIassa Oakley an' we'll git 'scharged. 

. Jeff. Oh, dar ain't no danger ob dat fo' dem cows was a good 
piece awaj 7 . (Puts jug to his mouth and denies.) Dat's de awfulest 
good liquor I ebber tasted. But I don't know jes' 'zactly what kind 
it is. 

Sambo. What's de diff 'rence 'bout de name so it's good? Gimme 
de jug fo' I'm gittin' mos' awful dry again. 

Jeff. (Giving him the jug.) Now be ca'ful yo' don't take too 
much. 

Sambo. Oh, dar ain't no danger 'bout dat. (Drinks. 

Jeff. Stop, dar ! (Sambo takes down the jug. ) You aiu't jes' 
cap'ble ob handlin' a jug. I's mighty 'fraid I'll hab to carry yo' 
home. 

Sambo. Oh, yo' needn't be scared 'bout me. 

Jeff. WLat kind ob liquor do yo' s'pose dat is? 

Sambo. It's a purty good kind. (Laughs.) Yah I yah! } r ah! 

Jeff. Yes, date so. (Laughs.) Yah ! yah ! yah 1 

Sambo. (Looking off b.) Thunder an' Jerusalem! Dere's dat 
man comin' back. He's jist comin' right troo de cornfield, an' I'll 
bet he sees us, fo' he is kinder stoopin' down. Oh, what'U we 
do? 

Jeff. Dat's bad. I 'spec' it'll cause a comboberation. But I mus' 
hab anodder drink. (Puts jug to his mouth. 

Felix. (Outside b.) Put deown that jug ! Don't drink I don't 
drink ! Fur goodness sake, don't drink eout of that jug ! 

Enter Felix, b. 

^ Jeff. (Setting down the jug. ) We on'y jes' tuck a drop, Yo' mus' 
'scuse us cause we habn't had nuffin ob dat kind lately. 



34 THE POISONED DARKIS. 

Felix. (Appearing greatly agitated and distressed.) Oh! oh 
Did yeou fellers drink eout of that jag? ( Takes up jug and shakes 
it. ) Oh, yes, there's a hull heap of it gone ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 
(Sets jug down and goes and sits down on the ground.) Oh ! what'll 
be done abeout it? 

Sambo. (Aside to Jeff.) He makes a 'mazin' big fuss about a 
little drop ob liquor. 

Jeff. (Aside to Sambo.) I 'spec' he's a mighty stingy man. He 
didn't want to lose a single drop. 

Felix. Oh, dear! there ain't no doctor anywhere areound. Do 
you feel sick ? 

Jeff. (Frightened.) What was in dat jug? 

Sambo. Quick, tell us what was in dat jug. 

Felix. Oh, it's awful, but it wasn't my fault. I didn't know there 
was anybody abeout. Oh, what'll be done ? Ain't yeou beginnin' 
tew feel queer abeout the stomach ? 

Jeff. Yes, I do begin to feel sick. 

Sambo. An' I do too. What was in dat jug ? 

Felix. It warn't my fault, but it will be awful tew see two colored 
men lyin' deown and dyin' right here on the road. Oh, it's awful ! 
it's awful ! Better sit deown on the ground. 

Jeff. Oh, I feel dreffui bad. (Sits down. 

Sambo. ( Sniveling) Oh, I'm goin' to die. I feel awful ; I'm poi- 
soned. (Sits down. 

Felix. But it warn't my fault, I had tew run arter them keows. 
Oh, it's a mighty sad affair. Hev yeou got any relations that yeou 
would like tew hev word sent tew abeout yeour death ? 

Jeff. Oh! oh! I'm gittiug worse. (Lies down.) What'll I do? 
I wish I was 'way down Souf. 

Sambo. Bun fo' Massa Oakley ; run quick or I'll be a goner. 
What'll become ob Diuah? (Lies down and rolls over.) Oh, l's 
sufferin' dreffui bad. 

Jeff. Yo' ought to be hung fo' leabin' your poison dere. What 
did yo' put poison in de jug fo' anyhow? ( Rolls over. ) Oh! oh! 
I wish we had stayed in de cornfield. 

Felix. Maybe yeou'd git over it if yeou could vomit. Better try 
it. 

Jeff. (Sitting up.) Oh, I feel dreffui bad. 

Sambo. ( Sitting up. ) Oh, l's purty near gone. 

Felix. Hevn't yeou any word tew send tew yeour relations ? 

Jeff. I don't care nuffiu fo' relations now fo' I am poisoned. l's 
jes' abeout goin'. 

Simbo. I want to send some word to Dinah, but I feel too sick. 
I guess l's about gone ober. 

Felix. (Rising.) Why don't yeou try to vomit? (Speaking 
louder. ) Vomit, I say, if yeou want tew save yeour lives. 

Jeff. C Standing on hit hands and knees.) I'll try, but I ain't 
hardly able. ( Tries to vomit.) Ook ! ook ! ook ! 



THE POISONED DAEKYS. 35 



Felix. Yeou other lazy nigger, there, git on yeour hands and 
knees and vomit eout that air poison (aside) which yeou didn't 
get. (To Sambo.) Don't yeou want tew save yeour life and see 
yeour old aunt Dinah again? 

Sambo. 'Tisn't my aunt Dinah ; oh, no, she's a lubly girl, an' 
now I's goin' away an' goin' to leab her. Boo hoo ! Boo hoo ! 

Felix. Stop yeour biubberin' and git tew vomitin'. Don't yeou 
know nothin ? 

Sambo. ( Gelling on his hands and knees. ) Oh, I's dyin' an' what's 
de use ? Oh, dear ! 

Felix. Git at yeour vomitin' neow. Dew yeou hear ? 

Sambo. ( Trying to vomit. ) Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Jeff. Ook ! ook ! ook ! I can't fetch up nuffin. 

Sambo. Ook ! ook ! ook ! Oh, Dinah, I's a goner ! 

Jeff. Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Sambo. Ook ! ook ! ook ! I can't fetch up nuffin neither. 

Felix. (Speaking very loud.) Go ahead with yeour ookin* . If 
yeou want tew see yeour aunt Dinah's keep ookin' away. ( lakes 
up jug,) I reckon I'd better take this jug home. I'll come back in 
abeout an hour and if yeou air both dead I'll help tew bury yeou. 

( Going. 

Jeff. Oh, don' leab us now ! Oh, don't, Massa Fogg. 

Sambo. Oh, no, don't leab us. I's jes' a goin'. My pooh Dinah ! 
Boo hoo ! 

Felix. Stop yeour talk, I tell yeou, and go on with yeour ookin'. 

Jeff. Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Sambo. Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Felix. That's right ; go ahead. (Aside. ) But I kalkilate Tom 
Oakley will cut up a fuss when he finds yeou hevn't been hoeiu' coru. 

(Exit e. 

Jeff. Ook ! ook ! ook ! Oh, he's gone an' left us. 

Sambo. Ook ! ook ! ook ! An' I'll be gone purty soon too. 

Jeff. ( Getting off his hands and knees and sitting down. ) Sambo, 
dar ain't no use in dat. We can't fetch nuffin. We may jes' as well 
sit up an' die without makin' so much fuss about it. 

Sambo. (Getting off his hands and knees and sitting down.) Yes, 
dat's so. Oh, I wish we hadn't tasted dat liquor. 

Jeff. Dat man ought to be hung fo' leabin' his poison dere. 

Sambo. Oh, it's purty hard to go and leab Dinah. 

Jeff. It's purty liard to die jes' right out heah on de road. Oh, 
I wish we had stayed in de cornfield an' let de jug alone. 

Sambo. Don't yo' think yo' could holler purty loud so Massa 
Oakley could heah yo'? 

Jeff. Oh, no, I's mighty weak. I took free drinks an' yo' on'y took 
two. 

Sambo. Yes, but I took mighty big ones. But I'll try to holler. 
(Stands on his knees and shouts.) Massa Oakley! Ho! massa 



36 THE POISONED D ABETS. 

Oakley ! Ho ! We's jes' a dyin'. Ho ! Massa Oakley ! We's purty 
near gone. 

Jff. Holler again an' mebbe yo'll fetch bim. 

Sambo. (Shouts.) Ho! Massa Oakley! Ho! ho! Massa Oak- 
ley ! We's a dyiu' ; we's party near gone. Ho ! 

Enter Felix, b. 

Felix. Stop yeour hollerin' an' git tew yeour ookin' again. Dew 
yeou want tew die right here on the road ? 

Jeff. Oh, won't yo' run fo' Massa Oakley ? 

Sambo. Oh, Massa Fogg, run fo' somebody. 

Felix. Stop yeour talk, I tell yeou. Neow git on yeour hands and 
knees again and try if yeou can't bring up the poison. 

(Jeff and Sambo get on their hands and knees again. 

Jeff. Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Sambo. Ook ! ook ! ook ! 

Felix. There, that'll dew neow ; yeou may git up and go tew 
hoeiu' corn. Tom Oakley will be purty rnad when he finds yeou 
hev been foolin' away so much time. 

Jeff. ( Sitting up. ) What do yo' mean ? 

S'imbo. ( Sitting up. ) Ain't we poisoned ? 

Felix. There warn' no poison in that jug anyheow. Don't yeou 
feel purty cheap ? 

Jeff. Yo' said dere was poison in de jug. 

Felix. My colored friend, allow me tew contradict yeon. I said 
nothin' of the kind. 

Jeff. Well, yo' ain't no gemman to fool poor colored men from de 
So nt dat way. 

Felix. And the poor colored men from the South ain't no gentle- 
men, or they wouldn't steal poor old Mrs. Winkerton's rum. 

Stimbo. (Laughs. ) Yah ! yah ! I think it was a purty good joke 
on us fellahs. (Laughs.) Yah ! yah ! 

Felix. And neow, before yeou go tew the cornfield, let me give 
yeou a piece of advice : Let rum alone and it is probable yeou will 
never again appear as the poisoned dabkys.. 



CtTBTAIN. 



MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALERS. 



IN ONE SCENE. 



(37) 



A MEETING OF LIQUOK DEALEES. 



CHARACTERS. 

Adam Applegate, A bloated liquor merchant 
Barney Blake, An Irishman, who takes a "drop." 
Charley Calz, A Dutchman, who owns a brewery. 
David Drew, A lover of poetry. 
Edward Elliston, A young liquor dealer. 



COSTUMES.— 7b Suit the Characters. 



PROPERTIES. 
Table* Five chairs. 



(38) 



A MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALEES. 



Scene. — A Room. Table c. Five chairs about it. 

Characters discovered seated at table c. 

Edward. (Rising.) I wise for the puwpose of making one or 
two wemarks, and also for the puwpose of. nominating a man for 
Pwesident of this meeting. I know I am young iu the liquow 
business, but, gentleman, my heawt is in the business. I love it 
because, as faw as I can see, the pwoceed awising fwom carwying 
it on will be gweat. In these times when there is weck'aud wuin 
all awound us, it devolves upon us to embawk in a business that 
will give full and 5 satisfactowy weturns. This the liquow business 
promises to do. There aw some pewsons who will wise up and 
say that we should not embawk in the liquow business, because of 
the hawm and the injuwy that it does to ©uw fellow men. But such 
wemawks come only fwom pwohibitiouists and ignowant tempewauce 
men, and who would give heed to the wemawks of such people? I 
wouldn't give any moaw heed to their wemawks than I would give 
to the bawking of a dog. These tempewance men fwom fiwst to las- 
aw all ignowant and hawd headed. You can't hammew any intellit 
geuce into them. When they say a thing once they think it is 
coiwect and they stick to it and say it ovew and ovew, and it isn't 
of any us© to awgue with them or twy to explain. There is anothaw 
wemawk which I wish to make, and that wemawk is *his : May I 
not as well engage in the sale of liquow as anybody else? If I do not 
sell liquow some othaw man will, and he will get all the money 
and I will get none. This is the way I look at this business of selling 

(39) 



40 A MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALERS. 

liquow. I think I may as well have some of the pwoceeds which 
awise fwom the sale of bvvandy and othaw liquows as to let anothaw 
man have it all. In wegawd to this thing of injuwing youaw fellow 
man I think that is all bosh and nonsense. Must I go and watch 
ovaw evewybody in cweatiou ? Must I stand and say to this man, 
"You must not dwink anymoaw," and to that man, " You have had 
enough low the pwesent?" The idea is pwepostewous. In this 
wowld we all look out fow ouwselves, and we mind ouw own busi. 
ness, but these cwazy tempewance men say you must look out fow 
evewybody else and it is no diffewence about youawself. If a man 
dwinks too much bwandy or too much whisky, is it any business 
of mine or is it his own business ? Of couwse it is his own busi- 
ness. I can't look out fow evewybody in cweation ; evewy man 
must look out fow himself. Of couwse a man ought not to get 
dwunk and pull out a wevolvew. and shoot people down, but if a 
man does git dwunk and pull out a wevolvew is that any weason 
why evewybody should stop selling liquow ? I could make a good 
many wemawks upon this point and I could show the uttaw absuw- 
dity of the wemawks which the tempewance men make, but I will 
say nothing moaw at this time. Gentlemen, I move that Mr. Adam 
Applegate be the pwesident of this meeting. Mr. Applegate is a 
man of wipe expewience in the liquow business and I think he will 
be a vewy suitable man fow pwesident. 

Charley. I secondt dose modion for Mr. Abblegade to pe de bresi= 
dent of dis meetiu'. 

Edward. The motion has been seconded. All in favor of the 
motion will say "aye." (All vote aye.) Those opposed will say 
"no." (No voles.) Mr. Applegate has been elected pwesident of 
this meeting. Will he step fowwawd and occupy the chair? 

Adam. ( Walks to the chair.) Feller citizens and liquor dealers, 
you hev called me to the chair, but you should Lev called somebody 
else, fur I don't know nothin' about how things ought till be done 
at a lneetin' of this kind. I never was president of a meetin' and 
consequently how can I know how the doin's ought to be done? 
It would hev been a great deal better if you had called some other 
gentleman to the chair, owin* to the fact that I hev never before been 
president of a meetin', and therefore, I do not know how the doin's 
ought to be done. I feel a good deal tickled about bein' called to the 
chair — I know it is a poorty big thing to be called to the chair 
of a liquor dealer's meetin* and I will do jist the best I can to hev 
the meetin' come off right and to keep the liquor dealers ahead of 
tha crazy temperance men, but still I think that it would have been 
a great deal better if you had called some other gentleman to the 
chair, because I hev never been president of a meetin' and therefore 
I don't know how the doin's ought to be done. The liquor dealers 
are right ; they ain't doin' nothin' that is wrong ; it is the temper- 
ance people which is wrong. The temperance people are crazy ; 
they are a set of fools, and therefore it would hev been better to hev 



• A MEETING OP LIQUOR DEALERS. 41 

put gome other gentleman in the cbair. I hev been in a good many 
meetin's but I never was in a chair afore, and consequently 1 don't 
know how the doin's ought to be done. The liquor dealers hev a 
big work afore them — they hev a great deal to do afore the election 
comes off, and they ought to hold meetin's and go to work jist as we 
are holdiu' a meetin' and goin' to work to-night. But it would hev 
been better in our meetin* if you had put a man into the chair which 
the said man had been in a chair afore. I hev been at a good many 
meetin's but I never was in a chair afore and therefore I don't jist 
know how the doin's ought to be done. But as I said afore, I will 
do my best to hev the meetin' to come off right, and I will do 
my best to keep the liquor dealers ahead of the temperance people, 
fur the temperance people ain't nothin' but a lot of big fools, still it 
would hev been better to hev put some other gentleman in the 
chair as I never was in a chair afore and therefore I don't know how 
the doin's ought to be done. 

Barney. Be jabers, an' are ye goin' till talk all night about 
nothin' ? 

Adam. Barney, shut your mouth. I am the president of this 
meetin' and you would hev to be put out if I would jist say the 
word. 

Barney. Be aisy now, Mr. President. Faith an' can ye show me 
the man in this matin' that w'ud be able to put me out? 

Adam. If one man couldn't put you out I 'spose the whoss meetin' 
could do it. 

Barney. Faix, an' I have me doubts about it. Why don't ye 
till us the object av the matiu' and let us git to business ? 

Adam. Do you think I was never in a meetin' before? I s'pose I 
know that when a man is elected to the office of president he ought 
to make a speech. I was jist makin' that speech when you stuck 
in your Irish jaw and stopped me. I hev been in meetin's many a 
time and I know how doin's ought to be done. 

Charley. Veil, I t'inks dere is no use in hafin so much pig fool 
cuttin' up a'ready. Didn't ve come here to addend to der lequor 
peesness und der prewery peesness ? Veil, den, let us addend to dose 
peesness und not gid to fightiu' apout nodings. • 

David. (Rises.) Allow me to say a lew words. There seems 
to be trouble brewing. What does the poet say ? The poet says 
this : 

* At thirty man suspects himself a fool, 
Knows it at forty and reforms his plan ; 
At fifty, chides his infamous delay, 
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve, 
In all the magnanimity of thought ; 
Resolves and re-resolves, then dies the same. 
And why ? because he thinks himself immortal. 
All men think all men mortal but themselves." 



42 A MEETING OF LIQUOE DEALEBS. 



What does another poet say ? Another poet sa ys this : 

"Our revels now are ended : These our actors, 
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air, into thin air ; 
Aud, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
And like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life 
Is rounded with a sleep." 

The same poet, whose name is Shakspeare, says : 

"The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 
The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
And his affections dark as Erebus ; 
Let no such man be trusted." 

Charley. Sdop dot man ! Vot under de sun is he dalkin' dot vay 
for? Doesn't he know dot dis is a meetin' to addend to de lequor 
peesness and de prewery peesness? If ve ton't git to doiu' de pees- 
ness ve shoost might as veil go home. (David sit? down. 

Adam. (Rising.) Charley, let David hev his say. I go in fur 
lettin' every man hev his say. I was only hevin' my say and makin* 
my speech upon takin' the chair when that impudent Irishman 
interrupted me. I believe in lettin' every man hev his sa}'. We 
live in the United States of America and we hev allers claimed 
that this is a free country. But is it a free country if a man is 
choked off when he is tryin' to make a speech ? Is it a free country 
when an Irishman interrupts the president of a meetin' ? I answer 
in thunder tones, it isn't. Hevn't I been in meetiu's often and don't 
I know how the doin's of a meetin' ought to be done? I hev been in 
the liquor business fur a great many years and I hev been in a great 
many liquor meetin's, and although I hev never before been called 
upon to preside at a meetin' yet I know mighty well how the doin's 
ought to be done. Then when I was makiu' my first presidential 
speech and was interrupted by an Irishman wasn't it enough to cause 
me to feel that there ought to be somethin' done by this meetin'? 
Was it not enough to make me feel like hevin' that Irishman pitched 
out of the door? But I will let the matter pass. 1 don't believe in 
kickin' up rumpuses at meetin's, but I believe in lettin' every man 
Lev his say. If Mr. Drew has anything more to say he can now hev 
the opportunity of perceedin' with his remarks. I think Charley ua- 



A. MEETING OF LIQT70B DEA.LEES. 43 

derstauds somethin' about how doiu's ought to be done at meetiu'a 

aud I tbiuk he will not iuterrupt biin again. As I said before I 

believe in letting every man hev his say. If he wants to make a 

speech on takin' the chair, let him hev his say ; if he wants to talk 

about the liquor business, let him hev bis say ; if be wants to say 

some poetry, let him her his say. This is the way it has allers been in 

all the meetiu's I hev been in and I hev been in a good many. I hev 

been in the liquor business a great many years and I hev been in a 

great many liquor meetin's and I know how the doin's ougbt to be 

done at tbem meetin's. Everybody will tell you that this is a free 

country, and wben we live in a free country I go in fur lettin' every 

man hev his say. If a man wants to speak on politics, let him hev 

his say ; if David Drew wants to speak about poetry, let him hev his 

say ; and if Barney Blake wants to speak about anytbing, let him 

hev his say. Barney Blake is an Irishman and he interrupted me, 

but I don't expect to interrupt Barney Blake when he gits up to 

make a speech. No, I believe in lettin' every man hev his say. I 

hev been in a good many meetin's and I know how the doin's ougbt 

to be done. Mr. Drew, if you hev anything more to say you kin go 

ahead. (Adam sils down. 

David. (Rising.) Somebody has said, "If you have anything to 

saj' it ; if you have anything to do, do it ; and if you are coming, 

why don't you come right along?'* I had something to say aud was 

endeavoring to say it wben I was interrupted by Mr. Charley Calz. 

Mr. Calz does not appreciate poetry. I have just said : 

♦'The man that hath no music in himself, 
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils." 

I might add that the man who "cares not for poetry "is fit for treasons, 
stratagems aud spoils." My speech will now be short ; I have not 
much to add. Another poet has said : 

"Lives of great men all remind us, 
We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us, 
Footprints on the sands of time. 

Let us then be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait." 

(Davtd sits down. 

Charley. (Rising. ) Veil, I ton't know vot under de sun dot has 

got to do mit de lequor peesness. Didn't ve gome here to-nigbd to 

do somet'ing apout de lequor peesness und de prewery peesness? 

Veil, den, vy de tickens ton't ve gid at und do it? If ve ton't do 



44 A MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALERS. 

not'ings but say boetry ve-might sboost as veil go borne. Haf ve got 
de time to vaste in dis vay ? Haf ve got de time to come bere mid 
dalk boetry und say sbeecbes ? Veil, I t'iuks not. I'm pooty sure 
I bafn't got de time to sbare. Den de question arises vot did ve come 
bere for — don't it? Und de question also arises, vot are ve goin' to 
do apout it? Are ve shoost goin' to sit sdill und do not'iugs dis 
•whole et'enin'? Are ve sboost goin' to do notin's but sing sbeecbes 
und vissel boetry ? Veil, I t'iuks in dese bard dimes ve bafu't got 
de time to do dot. I haf got a prewery und if dem demperauce 
beople gets dere vay dot prewery vill pe knocked all to tunder und de 
tickens. Dose demperauce folks are migbty bad people und dey 
vould sbust like my prewery to pe knocked all to tunder. It vas 
dime ve vas vakiu* up und giddin' aroused, und not stoppin' to make 
sbeecbes und sing boetry. Do ve vant to see all de leqnor bouses 
und all de prewery bouses knocked to tunder? Veil, I t'inks not. 
Den vot must ve do apout it a'ready ? Must ve git up meetiu's und 
den ven ve gome to dose meetiu's must ve do not'iugs but dalk avbile 
und say some boetry und den go borne und go to ped— don't it? 
Veil, I t'iuks not. If ve are goin' to do dot vay ve may sboost petter 
go borne uud tear down our own prewerys und lequor bouses und 
den dem pig rascal demperauce men vill not baf de sbauce of crow- 
in' ofer us alter dey baf tore down de peforesaid prewerys und lequor 
bouses of ours. Dot's sboost vot I dink apout it. If ve cau't do 
not'iugs ve sboost bad petter tear down our owu prewerys und lequor 
bouses und dot vill save dem pig fool demperauce men de drouble. 
Veil, vot did ve come dis efenin' bere for? Didn't ve come bere to 
do somet'ing apout keepiu' de demperauce men from gittin' indo 
bower uud smasbin' t'iugs all to de tickeus? Veil, let us git at und 
do dot peesness. Uud de pest vay I kuow of to do dot peesness is to 
pass a resolutions. I baf peen de matter t'inkiu' ofer uud I baf got 
a resolutions up vicb I vill now get at und read to dis meetin' vicb it 
bas met for de purpose of atteudin' to de leqnor peesness. De 
foller is de resolutions vicb I baf got dem up in my own bandwritiu* 
uud py usin' my son Shake's bencil. 

(Searches in all his pockets, and after a great deal of comic busi- 
ness, brhigs Jorth a rumpled manuscript — Beads. 

Besolfed: Dot ve must do somet'ing putty quick. 

Besolfed : Dot ve mustn't lose no dime a'ready. 

Besolfed : Dot dese is von of de dimes dot tries men's souls. 

Besolfed : Dot if '"et on't do somet'iugs putty quick ve may sboost 
as well gif it up. 

Besolfed: Dot de demperance men are all pig fools and liars und 
dot dey vould sboost as lief shteal chickens as not. 

Besolfed: Dot it vill pe all right to bit a demperance man mit 
your fist. 

Besolfed : Dot de leqnor men und de prewery men must all vote on 
de von ticket so as to peat de demperance men putty bad. 



A MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALERS. 45 

Resolfed: Dot I have got de pest prewery in dis county, und 
dot you ought to git your ale und peer at de beforeinentioned 
prewerj'. 

Resolfed : Dot de prewery beesness vould be von putty good pees- 
ness if de deniperauce men vas all killed. 

Resolfed : Dot Sharley Calz is a shentleman vich sells his pier putty 
low. 

Resolfed : Dot my dog got himself stole last Vednesday mornin'. 

Yours druly, Sharlex Calz. 

Dese resolutions I haf offered pecause I t'inlc dey are pretty good und 
pecause I t'iuk dot ven de deniperauce men reads dem dey vill be 
putty bad sheared. De vay to beat dem villainous deniperauce men 
is to git dem putty bad sheared, in de ferst blace. Den in de secondt 
blace, de vay to beat dem is to git out more beople to vote dan dey 
cau git ont. If ve can elect de lequor men ve vill pe all righd uud 
de preweries und de lequor houses can go on shoost as dey haf peen 
goin', und ve vill all pe happy und ve von't haf no drouble. But if 
de demperance men elect dere ticket it vill pe mighty pad und de 
clouds vill gadder over us und de heafens vill pe darkened uud de 
sun vill maybe quit shinin' uud shoost as like as not ve vill all go to 
tunder und smash. (Charley sits down. 

Barney. (Rises. ) Mr. Prisident, will ye be afther tell in' me what 
is the object av this matin'? Did this matin' mate here fur the pur- 
pose of listenin' to some resolutions by a Dutchman which aiu't 
nothin' but a pile avnonsinse? Did we come here, Mr. Prisident, 
to be bamboozled by a Dutchman that don't know to kape silent 
whin he ought to be kapiu' that way. 

Charley. ( 'Springing up. ) Veil now den you had petter shud up 
righd straight a'ready. Don't I know somet'ing apout de lequor pees- 
ness? Hain't I peen in de lequor peesness uud de prewery peesuess 
all my life since I vas a poy und lifed in Shermany ? Veil I t'iuks I 
know apout de peesness bedder as you do, und I t'iuks I haf a righd 
to git up dem resolutions. Mr. Bresident, Vot does dis Irishman 
kuow apout de lequor peesness? He hasn't got no prewery, he hasn't 
got pig lequor house, he hasn't got no saloon ; he hasn't got not'ing 
but shoost an old jug vich he gits filled mit visky putty often. Den 
vot righd has dot Irishman to come into dis meetin' ? Did he shoost 
come iu to jaw us aroundt a shpell ? Veil I t'inks, yes sir. Ferst he 
got to jawin' you, Mr. Bresideut, shoost pecause you vas makin' vou 
putty good sbeech at de openin' of dis meetin'. Mr Bresident you 
gif dot Irishman von pig packset down pefore, und dot made him 
shut up for avhile. But now he haf proke out again und he vants 
to jaw me apout de resolutions und apout my prewery ven I spose he 
doesn't know a prewery from a saw mill. 

Barney. (Still standing. ) Mr. Prisident, ain't I a member av this 
matin' ? An' didn't yez say that ivery feller sh'ud be allowed to hev 



46 A MEETING OP LIQUOR DEALERS. 



his say? Be jabers, I'm an Irishman, an' I will hev me say an' I'll 
make me spache or there will be a teariu' big fuss an' I'll be afther 
scattheriug this ould Dutchman all around over the room. What 
d'ye tak' me fnr, onyhow? Ain't I a liquor man an' don't I tak' a 
dhrop av the craythur whinivar I fale like it? Isn't this a matiu' av 
all the liquor men ? Av coorse it is, an' one liquor man has as much 
right to make a spache as another liquor man. Whiniver 

Charley. ( Interrupting him. ) Veil, now dot man has been dalkin' 
long enough. Vot's de use of an Irishman, dot has got no prewery, 
no lequoar house, no not'ing but shoost an old jug, to be taking up 
de faluable dime of dis meetin'? I mofe dot ve adjourn dot Irish- 
man out indo de street. 

Barney. Be jabers, an' if I git a hould av ye. 

David and Edward. Order! order! 

Adam. Yes, that's what I say, let us hev order. 

Barney. Faix, he's no gintleman an' I can thrash him nately and 
dacently. 

David. (Rising. ) Let us have peace. I am opposed to wrang- 
ling and jangling. Gentlemen, you should read poetry and then you 
would not be so willing to display your pugilistic propensities. 
Poetry is calculated to soften and subdue. I will recite a few lines 
of poetry. 

Charley. T'under! Ve don't vant no more of your pig fool 
boetiy. 

Barney. Yis, go ahead wid the poetry. 

David. (Becites.) — 

"Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope — to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day conies a frost, a killing frost ; 
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, 
And then he falls, so I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain Pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
I feel my heart new opened : Oh, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 



A MEETING OF LTQUOR DEALERS. 47 

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

* (David sits down. 

Adam. (Rising.) I hevbeen in a good many meetin's but I have 
never seen sich doiu's as 1 hev seen done here to-night. Gentlemen, 
I believe in allowiu' every man to hev his say. If one man rises 
up aud makes a speech, isn't it right fur another man to rise up 
and make a speech ? This is an important meetm'. The doiu's 
which will be done here to-night may be placed upon the page 
of history, and then how necessary that the doiu's should be done 
in a proper manner. Would you be willing to read the doiu's of 
this meetm' upon the page of history? Would it not cause some 
of you to blush if you should read these doiu's? The liquor men 
are a straight goiu' and an honest people — a great deal more houester 
and straight goiu'er than the temperance people, and therefore I 
would like to hev the doiu's of this meetm' done in a respectable 
manner. I will now sit down and let others rise. 

(Sits down. Barney and Charley both spring to their feet. 

Charley. Veil now, Mr. Bresident, hain't I got de floor ? 

Barney. That Dutchman had betther sit down. We've had 
enough of his talk. 

Edward. (Rising.) I wise to wemawk 

Adam. Sit down, sir, we don't want any of your remarks. 

Edward. You aw an old wepwobate. I won't sit down ; I'll stand 
up. 

David. (Rising.) Perhaps the tempest would be stilled if I 
Bhould recite some more blank verse. 

Barney. Mr. Prisident, I want to ax ye a bit av a qnistion. 

Adam. Ignorant Irishman, don't ax me any questions. I 
never did see sich doin's done at a meetin'. (Shouts.) Order! 
order ! order ! 

Barney. Hould yer tongue, ye ould haythen. 

Charley. Vill you dalk dot vay to our bresident. Veil, now, I 
haf a mind to gid at und scrunch you. 

Barney. Be jabers, ould sourkrout, I won't have any more av yer 
jaw. I'll pummel ye. (Advances. 

Charley. (Advancing.) I vill vallop you. 

David. A fight ! a fight ! 

Elward. A wumpus ! a wumpus ! 

Adam. Oh ! sich doin's as are bein' done. 

Barney, Come on, ye ould' blatherskate. 

Charley. You vill git scrunched. 

(Charley and Barney seize hold of each other. The others 
surround them and shout "Order!" "Stop!" "Hold!" 
General confusion as the curtain falls. 



Curtain. 



46 A MEETING OF LIQUOR DEALERS. 

his say? Be jabers, I'm an Irishman, an' I will hev me say an' I'll 
make me spache or there will be a teariu' big fuss an' I'll be afther 
scattheriug this ould Dutchman all around over the room. What 
d'ye tak' me fur, onyhow ? Ain't I a liquor man an' don't I tak' a 
dhrop av the craythur whiniver I fale like it? Isnt this a matin' av 
all the liquor men ? Av coorse it is, an' one liquor man has as much 
right to make a spache as another liquor man. Whiniver 

Charley. (Interrupting him.) Veil, now dot man has been dalkin' 
long enough. Vot's de use of an Irishman, dot has got no prewery, 
no lequoff house, no not'ing but shoost an old jug, to be taking up 
de faluable dime of dis meetiu'? I mofe dot ve adjourn dot Irish- 
man out indo de street. 

Barney. Be jabers, an' if I git a hould av ye. 

David and Edward. Order! order! 

Adam. Yes, that's what I say, let us hev order. 

Barney. Faix, he's no gintleman an' I can. thrash him nately and 
dacently. 

David. (Rising.) Let us have peace. I am opposed to wrang- 
ling and jangling. Gentlemen, you should read poetry and then you 
would not be so willing to display your pugilistic propensities. 
Poetry is calculated to soften and subdue. I will recite a few lines 
of poetry. 

Charley. T'under! Ve don't vant no more of your pig fool 
boetry. 

Barney. Yis, go ahead wid the poetry. 

David. (Recites.) — 

"Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope — to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day conies a frost, a killing frost j 
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, 
And then he falls, so I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
Vain Pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
I feel my heart new opened : Oh, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 



A MEETING OF LIQUOB DEALERS. 47 

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 

' (David sits down. 

Adam. (Rising. ) I hev been in a good many meetin's but I have 
never seen sich doiu's as I hev seen done here to-night. Gentlemen, 
I believe in allowiu' every man to hev his say. If one man rises 
up aud makes a speech, isn't it right fur another man to rise up 
Rud make a speech? This is an important meetm'. The doin's 
which will be done here to-night may be placed upon the page 
of historj', and then how necessary that the doin's should be done 
in a proper manner. Would you be willing to read the doin's of 
this meetm* upon the page of history? Would it not cause some 
of you to blush if you should read these doiu's ? The liquor men 
are a straight goin' and an honest people — a great deal more honester 
and straight goiu'er than the temperance people, and therefore I 
would like to hev the doin's of this meetm' done in a respectable 
manner. I will now sit down and let others rise. 

(Sits down. Barney and Charley both spring to their feet. 

Charley. Veil now, Mr. Bresident, hain't I got de floor ? 

Burney. That Dutchman had betther sit down. We've had 
enough of his talk. 

Edward. (Rising.) I wise to wemawk 

Adam. Sit down, sir, we don't waut any of your remarks. 

Edward. You aw an old wepwobate. I won't sit down ; I'll stand 
up. 

David. (Rising.) Perhaps the tempest would be stilled if I 
should recite some more blank vers*. 

Barney. Mr. Prisident, I want to ax ye a bit av a quistion. 

Adam. Ignorant Irishman, don't ax me any questions. I 
never did see sich doin's done at a meetin'. (Shouts.) Order! 
order ! order ! 

Barney. Hould yer tongue, ye ould haythen. 

Charley. Vill you dalk dot vay to our bresident. Veil, now, I 
haf a mind to gid at und scrunch you. 

Barney. Be jabers, ould sourkrout, I won't have any more av yer 
jaw. I'll pummel ye. (Advances. 

Charley. (Advancing.) I vill vallop you. 

David. A fight ! a fight ! 

Edward. A wumpus ! a wumpus ! 

Adam. Oh ! sich doin's as are bein' done. 

Barney. Come on, ye ouldblatherskate. 

Charley. You vill git scrunched. 

(Charley and Barney seize hold of each other. The others 
surround them and shoxd "Order!" "Stop!" "Hold!" 
General confusion as the curtain falls. 



Curtain. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



IN THEEE ACTS. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



CHARACTERS. 



John Gray, An intemperate husband. 
Ellen Gray, His wife. 

James Woodburn, Mrs. Gray's brother. 



COSTUMES. 

James "Woodburn. — Modem. 

All the others old and worn dresses, denoting poverty; the children 
barefooted. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Bed. Small table. Two chairs. Tin cup. Bottle. 
Broken plate. Small piece of board. 

Act II. —Table with three legs. Two broken chairs. A bucket. 
Tin cup. A few plates. A candle. 

Act III. — The same. 



(60) 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



ACT I. 

Scene — A Room, scantily furnished. Bed near back of stage on 
which is Mbs, Ghay apparently much induced by want and suffering. 
Ttco chairs near the bed on which are seated Annie and Roland. 
Small table near the head of the bed on which are a tin cup, a bottle 
and a broken plate. Annie and Roland barefooted and with dresses 
old and worn. Doors r. and l. 

Mrs. Gray. My children, come near to me. I feel that I cannot 
be with you very long. M} r hour is come and I must leave you. 
( The children go and stand by the bedside. J Oh ! it grieves me sorely 
to go away and leave you so poorly provided for. Indeed, I know 
not what will become of you. You nif.y be turned into the .street 
or taken to the alms house. Oh ! must I go and. leave you thus ? 
Oh ! my tender lambs, this is a trying ordeal. It wrings my heart 
with unutterable anguish to think of your future. ( Weeps. 

Roland. Mother, don't cry. You ain't going away — you know you 
ain't able to go any place. 

Mrs. G. Poor, innocent child ! Oh ! how can I leave you? 

Roland. You needn't leave me, mother ; I don't want you to leave 
me. 

Mrs. G. Annie, Roland doesn't understand. After I am gone 
will you tell him I am gone to Heaven, and that I want both of you 
to meet me there? * 

Annie. Yes, mother, I will. 

(51) 



52 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

Roland. You are going to Heaven, are yon, mother? You have 
told me about that place often, and you said it was a good place, 
where there was nothing bad and no drunkards and everybody was 
very happy. If you are going there, mother, —I wouldn't cry; I 
would be glad to go there. I'm sure you might be tired of this place 
for papa scolds you and beats you. I wish I could go with you, 
mother. 

3Irs. G. But, Roland, we have to die before we go there. I will 
have to die and leave you. 

Roland. Oh, mother, don't -leave us. " ( Reaching over and trying 
to put his arms around Ids mother's neck. ) You mustn't leave us. 
I couldn't live if you would go away. If you weren't here papa 
would cmie home some night and kill us. Oh ! mother, I will hold 
you tight and not let you go. 

Mrs. G. My darling boy, you do not understand. I cannot take 
you with me and I must go at the Master's call — you cannot prevent 
it. If I could but leave you provided for I could go without a pang 
of* regret. (Raising Iter voice in prayer.) Merciful Father, look in 
tender compassion upon these innocent and helploss children. Be 
merciful, oh, I beseech Thee. Protect them from the fury of their 
earthly father ; be their God and their guide. Find them a home 
and a resting place, and at last bring them home to Thee. 

( Siidcs doien exhausted. 
Annie. (After a pause. ) Mother, is there anything more you wish 
to say? 

Mrs. G. (Rousing herself.) I believe I was going to sleep. I 
wanted to say — (Speaking mournfully, her mind seeming to wandev. ) 
Oh! how can I leave these poor, shorn lambs? ( Again attempting 
to pray. ) Oh, merciful Father, temper the winds, I beseech Thee, 
temper the winds to my poor, shorn lambs. Oh ! be merciful. 
Blessed Jesus, be merciful to these poor children who are lost in 
a wilderness of sin. Keep them — save them, and at last let us ail 
gather on the banks of "The Beautiful River." 

Annie. Mother, would you like that we would sing something. 
Mrs. G. Yes, sing "Beautiful River." 

(Annie commences and Roland joins her. 

"Shall we gather at the river 

Where bright nngel feet have trod ; 
With its crystal tide forever 
Flowing by the throne of God? 

Chorus. Yes, we'll gather at the river, 

The beautiful, the beautiful river — 
Gather with the saints at the river, 
That flows by the throne of God." 

Roland. Is she asleep ? 

Annie. Yes, she is tired talking. We must let her rest. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 53 

Roland. Is it dreactful to die, Annie ? 

A unie. It is Lard for mother to die. She does not want to go away 
and leave ns. She thinks we cannot get along. 

Roland. But she has asked Jesus to take care of us, and I know 
he will. Oh, I don't want her to go, but it it will be easier for her, 
let us seem as if we were willing. I don't want poor mother to suffer 
so much. 

Annie. I want to cry so very bad, but I try to keep from it, 
for I know it makes her feel worse. Let us not cry any more, Roland, 
and then, maybe, it will not be so hard for her to die. 

Roland. We couldn't die and go with her, could we? 

Atiniv. No, we must wait until we are called. "What will we do 
when she is gone? 

Roland. Oh ! we'll get along. Mother has asked Jesus to take 
care of ns, and he will do it — I know he will, for he is a good man 
and he likes us to come to him and ask for things when we are in a 
bad fix. Mother told me that last Sunday. 

Mrs. G. (Waking.) Has your father come yet? 

Annie. No, mother. It would be better if he would not come until 
after you are gone. 

Mrs. G. You are willing for me to go, are you ? 

Roland. Oh ! yes, mother, if you are called to go now we will not 
try to keep you. We love you, dear, good mother, but we do not 
want to make you feel bad by asking you to stay. We are willing 
for you to go, and we know that Jesus will take care of us — don't we, 
Annie? 

Annie. ( Weeping softly. ) Yes. 

Roland. (Aside to Annie.) Don't cry, Annie. Didn't you say 
you wouldn't? (To Mrs. Gray.) Jesus, won't let papa hurt us, 
mother? 

Mrs. G. ( Endeavoring to raise her head.) Will you give me a 
drink, Annie? I can't live much longer. 

Annie. (Raising her mother's head and giving her a drink.) Do 
you feel worse ? 

Mrs. G. I am sinking. I am already entering the dark valley. 
Hasn't John come yet. 

Annie. No ; would you like that I would go out and try to find 
him? 

Mrs. G. Yes ; I would like to see him once more and ask him to 
do better, and be kind to you and Roland. 

Roland. Mother don't be troubled about us. Jesus will take care 
of us — I know he will. (Noise outside — Roland starts up.) He's 
coming now. 

Enter Mr. Gray, intoxicated, l. 

Mr. G. How's zis ? Whar's up ? ur I might ask, whar's broke ? 

(Staggers. 
Annie, Papa, mother's very sick. 



54 * OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

Mr. 0. It's big lie — 'tisn't so — she's not sick — she's actin' er pos- 
sum — she ought to be whaled. 

Mrs. G. Come here, John, I am going to die and I want to say 
a few words to you before I go. 

Mr. G. (Staggering. ) Wha' yer actin' the blasted fool about 
now ? 

Mrs. G. I haven't long to stay, John. I must go soon, and I 
would like to take your hand before I go and talk to you a few 
minutes. 

Mr. G. Elleu, you're biggest fool in creation. I've a mind to 
take er stick an' give yer thrashin'. Wha' yer mean, anyhow ? 

Mrs. G. I mean that I am dying, John. Will you not come near 
and let me hold your hand as I go down into the dark valley? 

Mr. G. (Staggering and getting angry.) Here, you brats, come 
here. Git me er big stick an' I'll give this old pussum an awful big 
thrashin'. 

Annie. (Commencing to cry.) Oh, papa, mother's going to die. 
Don't hurt her — oh ! don't hurt her. . (Goes behind the bed. 

Mr. G. Goin' ter die. I tell yer's big lie. She's actin' er fool. 
Git er stick, you brat, an' I'll ^ive her an awful thrashin'. She's 
dyin' all er time. I reckon I know. She's too lazy ter git up. Git 
er stick an' I'll kill er whole of you. 

Mrs. G. (Raising her head and looking at him.) I am going now, 
John. Farewell. ( Falls back. 

Roland. (Coming and taking his father's hand. ) Papa, let me lead 
you to the bed. Come and see mother, for she's going away. 

Mr. G. Git out er this now, you ugly brat. 

(Kicks Roland — he falls and commences to cry. 

Roland. Oh, mother, mother, he's going to kill us all. (Runs 
and falls on bed beside his mother and cries bitterly.) Oh, mother, 
mother, don't let him git lis — don t let him kill us ! 

Mr. G. (Staggering towards the bed. ) I'll kill er whole set of 
you. Shan't act er fool round me. ( Picks up a piece of a board. ) 
I won't have it ; I'll kill er whole family— old woman ^n' all. 

Annie. (Screaming.) Oh, papa; don't kill us! don't kill us! 
And don't come here ; mother's dead. 

Mr. G. Shut up er I'll knock yer head off. 

(Raises the board as if to strike and staggers up to the bedside. 

Annie. (Raising her hands to ward off the blow.) Oh, don't strike 
mother — she's dead. 

Mr. G. It's er lie. 

(Bends down and looks a few seconds at Mrs. Gray, then 
straightens up y lets board fall and turns to audience with a look 
of horror on his face* 

END OP ACT X. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 55 



ACT II. 



Scene. — A Room, scantily furnished. Two broken chairs near centre 
of stage. A table with three legs. A bucket, tin cup, a few plates, 
and a candle on the table. Doors k. and l -i 

Annie and Kolanb discovered seated on chairs near c 

Roland. The candle will soon burn out and then won't it be awful 
to stay here in the dark. Oh, I wish somebody would come. 

Annie. Nothing will disturb us here, Roland, you need not be ' 
afraid. 

Roland. But it's awful the way papa is. I never saw him that 
way before, and I am afraid to stay here. 

Mr. G. (Outside i») Oh! won't somebody come aud tear them 
away? They're crawling all over me. Help! they're choking me ! 
They're stinging me ! (Groans.) Oh ! oh ! o-o-h ! 

Roland. Oh, this is dreadful. Annie what will we do? Nobody 
will come and we must just sit here and listen. I wonder if papa is 
dying. 

Annie. (Rising.) Yes, I believe he is and I must go to him. 

Roland. (Springing up.) No, Annie, don't go iuto that room. 
He is wild ; he is crazy and he will kill ) r ou. ( Catching hold of her. 

Annie (Releasing herself.) Yes, I must go — I must see if I can 
do anything for him. 

Mr. G. (Screaming.) Oh, oh ! Ellen don't come near me. 
Don't come. Oh, don't ! The flames are rolling out of your mouth ; 
your eyes are great balls of fire ! Oh ! 1 know I starved you, I know 
I beat you, I know I abused you — yes, I killed you with my drunken- 
ness, but don't, oh ! don't look at me in that way. Don't'come near 
me ! Oh ! don't come near me. (Louder. ) I'm burning up ! I'm 
dying ! Help ! oh ! help ! (Noise as if some one had fallen. 

Annie. (Running out l.) Oh, papa, are you dying? 

Roland. (As if about to commence to cry.) I'm afraid to stay 
here. Oh ! I wish papa wasn't a drunkard and then we wouldn't 
have so much trouble. (Goes and sits down on the floor in one comer 
of the room.) I am afraid, and I'll sit down here. "When papa 
screams and throws himself around it frightens me and I hardly 
know where to go. Oh ! I wonder if he is going to die. I wish he 
would for it is so awful to see him act the way he does. He thinks 
there's snakes crawling over him and big animals trying to get at 
him. And he thinks mamma has come back and that she is made of 
fire. I'm afraid to go in and look at him, and Annie's afraid too, but 
she goes in anyhow ; she thinks it isn't right to leave him alone. 



56 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



Oh ! yes, I wish he would die. He is a good papa when he is well, 
but when he gets money and goes to the saloons he is an awful mau 
and he frightens us. He is worse now than he ever was before; 
he jumps round and screams and thinks that there are things trying 
to catch him. If he would die we wouldn't have that awful noise 
out there any more, and maybe we wouldn't have any more trouble, 
aaid we could go and live in another place, ( Thoughtfully.) But if 
papa should die where would he go ? I wonder if he could go to 
that good place that mamma used to tell us about. She said only 
good people could go there, and papa isn't good when he takes all the 
money and goes to the saloons and doesn't buy us anything to eat. 
I wish I could die and go up there where mamma is. I think it is 
nice and warm there, and people don't get hungry, and there is no 
noise like papa is making out there. And if I could go there I would 
see mamma and I want to see her. Oh ! this is such a bad place. 
There is fighting and swearing all around and I am cold and hungry 
nearly all the time. I wish Annie would come in. That candle will 
soon be out and then it will be dark and I will be afraid to stay here. 
But I can't go into the other room — oh ! no, I can't go in there. 
Papa is crazy and he might kill me. 

Mr. G. ( Outside. ) Come on, ye demons, come on. Let your 
tongues of fire roll over me, I care not, I am all aflame. No, stop ! 
stay ! hold ! Back, I say ! Back to your bottomless pit. Ellen is 
here. Oh, Ellen ! I beseech you go away — leave me. It kills me to 
look upon you. 

Annie. ( Outside. ) Papa, don't you know me ? I am Annie. 

Mr. G. Oh, Ellen ! don't speak to me ; don't utter a word. I can 
endure the flames ; the snakes may climb over me and cling to me, 
but I cannot endure your gentle reproach. Oh ! don't look at me in 
that way. Don't ! don't ! I must flee. Help ! oh ! help ! Save me ! 
Save me ! (Noise as if he had fallen on the floor. 

Roland. (Still crouching in the corner.) Oh! what will 1 do! 
Must I stay here all night and listen to that awful noise? I am 
frightened and I feel cold. Maybe I'm dying. People get cold 
when they die. Well, I am ready to die, only I wouldn't like to 
leave Annie all alone in this great big world. There would be no 
one to take care of her, and she would have to go out into the cold, 
cold streets and beg, and maybe she would lie down somewhere 
ana die. Oh ! no, I don't want to die ; I would like to go up to 
Heaven where my mamma is, but I can't leave Annie here all alone. 
The candle will soon go out and then I will be left in the dark. 
But I will try and not be afraid. Mother used to tell me that if I 
would be good Jesus would be with me and take care of me. He can 
be here in this dark room and I will try and not be afraid. 

Mr. G. (Screaming.) Help! help! I'm in a lake of fire. I'm 
burning. The demons are dragging me down. I'm choking. 
(Noise as if struggling.) Ellen, help me out! help me out! For- 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 57 

give me, oh ! forgive me. I murdered you — yes, I murdered you— I 
starved you, I killed you, but help me out of this awful pit. Help ! 
I'm sinking ! I'm dying ! Oh ! oh ! 

Roland. Oh, it must be awful to be the way papa is. (Folding 
his hands and looking up.) Oh, Lord Jesus, don't let me ever be a 
drunkard. Please don't let my poor papa suffer so much. Please let 
him get well and be a good man so he can go up to where mother 
is. And please take Annie and me up there too when we die. 
Amen. Now maybe papa will get well and be a good man. I 
don't want him to die now, for I'm afraid he couldn't go to the good 
place when he has been so bad as to go to the saloon and drink 
whisky and leave us here without anything to eat. Oh, it would be 
so nice if he wouldn't drink any more ; it would be so nice if we 
could go away from this bad place and papa would be a good man 
and get us a nice house to live in and good warm clothes to put 
on. 

Enter Annie, l. 

Annie, Koland, papa is dead. 

Roland. (Ptdting Ids hands to his face and sobbing bitterly.) Oh ! 
oh ! Poor papa is gone ! Oh, I wish he hadn't died. Oh ! what 
will we do? If he had died this morning before he went to the 
saloon it would have been bettez\ for he wasn't wild then and maybe 
he would have gone to heaven. But mother can't see him now, and 
we can't sec him either when we go. Oh ! what will we do ? 

( Weeps bitterly. 

Annie. (Endeavoring to restrain her tears. ) Roland, do not cry. 
God will take care of us. You know mother used to tell us that. 
She said He knew Avhen even a little bird fell to the ground and 
died and He would know all about our trials and troubles and would 
take care of us. 

Roland. (Wiping his eyes.) Yes, I know that Jesus will take 
care of us, but it makes me cry when I think about how papa was 
when be died. He can't go to heaven now, can he? 

Annie. We can't tell about that, Roland, we won't know until the 
day of Judgment. 

Roland. I will ask Jesus to take him up to that beautiful home, 
so that mother and papa and you and I will all be together some 
day. But will we not go and tell some of the people that papa is 
dead ? 

Annie. No, it would be of no use. They do not care for us and 
they would not come in. We must wait until morning, and then I 
will go and tell Mr. Smith. 

Roland. The candle is going out and it will soon be dark 
here. But I do not feel afraid now. Jesus is here and he will 
take care of us. Let us sing something and the time will not 
seem so long. 

(Annie commences to sing and is joined by Roland. 



58 OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



" Yfe shall meet beyond the river, 

By and by, by and by ; 
And the darkness shall be over, 

By and by, by and by ; 
With the toilsome journey done, 
And the glorious battle won, 
We shall shine forth as the sun, 

By and by, by and by. 

We shall strike the harps of glory, 

By and by, by and by ; 
We shall sing redemptions story, 

By and by, by and by ; 
And the strains for evermore, 
Shall resound in sweetness o'er 
Yonder everlasting shore, 

By and by, by and by. 

(The candle goes out — stage dark. Annie and Koland continue 
to sing. 

We shall see and be like Jesus, 

By and by, by and by ; 
Who a crown of life will give us 
By and b} r , by and by ; 
And the angels who fulfil 
All the mandates of His will 
Shall attend and love us still, 
By and by, by and by. 

There our tears shall all cease flowing, 

By and by, by and by ; 
And with sweetest rapture knowing, 

By and by, by and by ; 
All the blest ones who have gone 
To the land of life and song, 
We with shoutings shall rejoin, 

By and by, by and by. 

END OF ACT H. 



OUT OP THE DEPTHS* 59 

act in. 

Scene. — Same as Act II. 

Annie discovered seated on the floor, and Roland asleep, with his head 
in her lap. 

Annie. Roland, it is daylight. If you will get up I will go to Mr. 
Smith's and tell him papa is dead. 

Roland. ( Waking.) Oh, I am so cold ! I wish we could have a 
good fire. (Setting up.) I had a beautiful dream, Annie. I 
dreamed that the angels had come down and taken ns all up to 
that beautiful home. They took papa too, for tbey said it wouldn't 
be right to have us separated. Aud we were all so glad when we saw 
mother, and she flew to us aud put her anus around us and was 
so very glad. Oh ! I wish it had all been true, and then we would 
have had a good, warm home, and there would not have been any 
more awful noises around us all the time. 

Annie. I wish it had been true too. I'm sure I don't know how 
we are to get along now. 

Roland. Annie, you needn't be afraid ; Jesus will take care of us. 
Mother asked him and I asked him and I know he will. That's just 
as sure as anything. But I wish he*would get a warm fire for us, for 
I am very cold. 

Annie. You will not be afraid to stay here while I go to Mr. 
Smith's, will you, Roland? 

Roland. No, I don't think I would be afraid, but papa is in that 
room there, and I believe I'd rather go along. 

Annie. It will be cold for us to go out without shoes or stockings, 
but we will have to go, for papa must be buried. 

Roland. Oh, we can get along very well without shoes. We will 
run and that will keep us warm. 

Annie. Would you like to look at papa before you go. 

Roland. Oh, no ; not till Mr. Smith comes. (Knock at door b. 

Annie. I wonder who can be coming. ( Open's door B. 

Enter Mb. Woodbubn, b. 

Mr. Woodburn. Good morning, my children. You seem to be 
almost frozen. Well, poor darlings, I have come to give you a better 
home. 

Roland. ( Wonderingly. ) Are you Jesus ? 

Mr. W. Oh, no ; I am only a man. 

Roland. Oh, yes, I know ; you are one of the good men that live 
up in Heaven, and Jesus has sent you to take care of us. I knew 



60 OUT OP THE DEPTHS. 

Jesus would come or send somebody to find a home for us, for 
mother asked him and I asked him. Mother said he cared for all 
people that were good and nobody could die without his knowing 
about it. 

Mr. W. Where is your father? 

Roland. (Pointing. ) He's iu the room there, and he's dead. 

Mr. W. Dead? Is it possible? (Exlti*. 

Annie. I wonder who that man is. 

Roland. He is an angel. I knew it would be all right for I asked 
Jesus to attend to us audi not let us freeze. Oh ! now, if papa wasn't 
dead and wouldn't drink any more, wouldn't it be nice and couldn't 
we be happy ? 

Annie. I suppose it is a man that has come to bury papa. Some- 
body has told him that he is dead. 

Roland. Why, Annie, he said he had come to give us a better 
home. It must be somebody that Jesus has sent. 

Enter Mb. Woodbukn, l. 

Mr. W. Poor little orphans, I have arrived in a time of need. 
Indeed, I do not know what would have become of you if I had not 
come. I am your uncle James Woodburu. I have been in California 
for ten years, and on arriving home last week I learned that your 
father and mother were living in this city. I at once decided to come 
here and find them. I had not heard from Ellen, your mother, for 
five years, and I did not know until I came home whether she was 
living or dead. After searching" for three days I learned last night 
that you were living here. I thought I would not come until this 
morning, but I see now that I should have been here. When did 
your father die ? 

Annie. Last night, and I think it was- about twelve o'clock. 
Roland, Oh, it was awful to hear him. He screamed and groan- 
ed and fell on the floor and thought mother had come agaiu. And 
he said there were snakes all over him and he thought lie was in a 
big fire. Oh 1 it was awful. 

Mr. W. And were you not afraid to stay? 

Roland. If Annie was afraid she didn't say anything. She thought 
it wouldn't be right to leave him and she stayed in there 'most all 
the time. I was afraid for awhile, but I asked Jesus to take care of 
us, and then I wasn't afraid any more. But I was very cold. 

Mr. W. Poor darlings, you have been here all night without fire 
and with your father raving and dying with delirium tremens. Oh ! 
why didn't I come immediately ? 

Annie. Oh, uncle James, you needn't feel badly because you 
didn't come Jast night. It is all over now. But we are so glad you 
have come and that you are going to take us away. 

Mr. W. I learned when I was endeavoring to find your place of 
residence, that your mother died some five or six weeks ago. Did 
she say anything about your uncle James ? 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 61 

Annie. She tried to say something more when she was dying 
but she seemed to forget what it was, and soon after that papa came 
in and she wanted to talk to him. • 

Mr. W. And he was away from her in her dying hours? 

Annie. Yes, and when he came home— oh, it is too awful to think 
about. (Shudders and burys her face in her hands. 

Roland. I can tell it. When papa came home he swore out loud 
and wouldn't listen to mother when she said she was dying, and he 
took up a board and said he would kill us all. And he was just 
going to strike mother when he found she was dead. Then he fell 
down on the floor and lay all night and groaned, and after mother 
was buried he felt very sick, and we thought he would die too. 

Annie. But in a few days he took to drinking again, but he never 
said anything more about killing us. 

Mr. W. Oh, this curse of all curses, intemperance ! "When shall 
it be driven from our land? (To the children.) Wait a minute; 
I will go into this room again, and then I will take you to a place 
where you wil be more comfotrable. (Exit l. 

Boland. Annie, I believe we ought to thank Jesus for sending 
tmcle James to take care of us. ( Comes to front of stage and Joieels 
with hands clasped and eyes closed.) Oh, we thank Thee, kind Jesus, 
for sending a man to care for us, and to find us a home. Oh, kind 
Jesus, don t let me ever be a drunkard, and don't let us have any 
drinking of whisky anywhere ail over the world. Oh, bless Annie 
and me in our new home. And bless uncle James. And when we 
die, take us all to that "Home, sweet Home" above, Amen. 

(Music soft and low, "Home, sweet Some," during Roland's 
prayer. Curtain should fall slowly and reach the floor just 
after Roland has said Amen, 



CUBTAIN. 



ARRESTING THE MARCH OF 
INTEMPERANCE; 

IN ONE SCENE, 



(63) 



AEEESTING THE MAECH OF 
INTEMPEEANCE. 



CHARACTERS. 

Angelina. Bolivar, An old maid. 
Tom Bolivar, Her nephew. 
Hezekiah Hawkins, A Yankee. 
Philip Baeton, An old bachelor. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Table. Sofa. Easy chair. Three chairs. Small bottle for Ange- 
lina. 



(64) 



ARRESTING THE MARCH 
OF INTEMPERANCE. 



Scene. — An Apartment in Mr. Bolivar's House* Doors s. and l. 
Miss Angelina Boliyar discovered seated. 

Angelina. I hev been readin' about the crusaders and I bev come 
to the conclusion tbat I will go out as a crusader and do sometbin' 
fur the cause by endeavorin' to put down tbe curse of intemperance 
which like a giant or a cclporter or somethiu' cr another is walkin' 
abroad all over this fair and sunny land of our'u and scoopin' up 
people in bis might and makin' boys learn to drink whisky and 
driviu' terror to the hearts of hundreds and thousands of women and 
feller citizens. Intemperance is a monster which goes prancin' 
about in the superlative degree, and it is the duty of all women 
without regard to sex to rise up like a colossus or a locofocotive or 
sometbin' or another and march out to meet him. And when the 
said women hev met him it is their duty to give him battle aud fight 
him and continner to fight until the old hound, or the war horse, or 
whatever you may choose to call him, gives up and catterpatitulates. 
Oh, I hev been watchiu' the progress of this demon intemperance 
fur the past five or six weeks aud I see that he is mavchin' fomd with 
bucolic strides. I firmly believe that us young ladies can do some- 
thin' to stop the drinkin' of intoxicatin' liquors ; yes, we can do a 
great deal, but we will have to put on a bold posterior and march 
forrid with unfliuchin' determination and a tyrannicy obstination. I 

" —-*•-.-■ (65) 



66 ABBESTING THE MABCH OF INTEMPEBANCE. 

drink a little Holland gin myself fnr the good of my health. I some- 
times hev a touch of the rheuniatiz, but I'm keerful not to let it be 
known that I hev rheumatic attacks, fur it might injure my prospects 
in the matrimonial line. The young men of the present day hev got 
mighty partic'lar — they don't want to marry anybody if there is any- 
thing the matter with them, sicn as rheumatism or neurollogy or 
cholera in flan turn. Now I cau't see as it makes any difference if a 
young girl has a touch of rheumatiz ; of course that doesn't hurt her, 
fur anybody knows that the rheumatiz doesn't last long. But 1 am 
goin* to start out with a firm determination to fight savngeously and 
with great valuation in the great temperance army, I flatter myself 
that I can speak with great conviucibility and I can spread conster- 
nation all around me when I get warmed up and commence to speak 
with uxoriousness and dispatch. Now who 6hill I speak to first? 
Who shill I first astonish with my witheriu' eloquence? Where shill 
I first commence to fight this wild demon of intemperance who is 
rushiu' over the land with dispasonic strides? Yes, I hev it. My 
brother has hired a man ; he came here yesterday. I hev no doubt 
he is a heathen of the blackest dye. Charity should begin around 
the family circle, as the poet says, and I will let my eloquence burst 
upon that heathenish hired man. I have no doubt he is a drinker — 
it may even be possible and also horizontally probable that that hired 
man has wallowed in the gutter. The thought is stupefy in' and also 
georgious. Then the question arises and also gets up, can I talk to 
a man who has so far forgotten his duty to the American fLig as to 
wallow in the gutter? Yes, ef I become a crusader and start out 
with the determination of opposin' the onward sweep of that ungen- 
tlemanly demon intemperance I must speak to all sexes and condi- 
tions of men. I must speak to the monarch as well as the democrat, 
I must speak to the republican as well as the hired man who wallows 
in the gutter. Yes, when a young girl becomes a crusader she is 
hydrostatically bound to speak to everybod}' in particular and 
urge them to throw their gin or their whisk}' to the wild winds 
and never drink another drop nevermore ; nohow. Yes, I will 
commence at home and I will commence at once. (Takes a small 
bottle out of her pocket.) I will take a drop of my Holland gin 
tobrace me up and enable me to fight valiantly and with great 
buslification against this powerful demon intemperance. (Drinks.) 
This gin seems to put new life and also a new nervous cistern 
.into me. When I git a drop of this gin I feel able to cope and 
grapple wilh any man who is beiu' led down to destruction by 
this oleaginous demon, intemperance. (Puis the bottle into her 
pocket. ) Now I feel stern and unflinchin'. ( Goes to door b. and ad's. ) 
Hezekiah ! Hezekiah ! step this way forthwithically. ( Goes and seats 
herself again.) Now dien for the onset — now then for the first battle 
with that prancing demon intemperance. How shall I attack him ? 
In what way shill I speak so as to terrify him and make him flee 
from his cups ? I think I shill speak as a stern woman of the female 



ARRESTING THE MARCH OP INTEMPERANCE. 



Bex who feels that it is her duty to take up a batterin' ram and fight 
iu the cause of temperance. Why doesn't that hired man appear? 
( Goes to door again and calls. ) Hezekiah ! Hez-e-ki-ah ! 

Hezekiah. (Otdsiden.) Whafs broke neow ? 

Ange. Step this way forthwithically. 

Jleze. Yes, I'm a corniu'. 

Ange. (Returning to her seat.) The battle is now about to com- 
mence. 

Enter Hezekiah, b. 

• ^_ 

Heze. Wall, I heerd yeou yaupin' eout and I hev come in. What's 
broke, anyheovv? 

Ange. Hired man, what is your name ? 

Jleze. Wail yeou called me Hezekiah and I cum right along, so it 
is reasonable tew suppose that's my name. 

Ange. Hired man, be seated ; I hev much to say to you. 

Heze. Wall, I kalkiliite yeou'd better say it purty last, fur I 
reckon if Mr. Bolivar finds I hev left my work he'll be most tarna- 
tion mad. 

Ange. Work is nothin' when the howlin' demon is walkin' over 
the land with diabolic strides. 

Heze. Heow ! what's that? what is it that has broke loose and is 
tear in' areound ? 

Ange. Don't you know of anything that is goin' about destroy in' 
families and castin* men, women and children and so forth into bank- 
ruptcy and destruction ? 

Heze. 'Deed I don't 'know of nothin', bnt I'll bet if I had my old 
musket deown here I could ietch it deown at the first pop 

Ange. ' Iguorantical hired man, you do not understand, I speak 
of the galloping demon intemperance which is now prancing over 
the land. 

Heze. Ob, is that it ? I didn't know it had got tew prancin'. 

Ange. Hired man, you stand upon dangerous ground. But first 
I will ask you this question : Do you know what I am ? 

Heze. Yes, I know, but I kalkilate it wouldn't be altogether proper 
fur me tew say. 

Ange. Yes, Hezekiah, if you know what I am, tell me, speak out ; 
don't be afraid. 

Heze. Wall, I should say yeou were an old maid. 

Ange. Base hired man, how dare yeou utter sich a remark? 

Heze. Wall, I didn't want tew say nothin' abeout it, but yeou said 
fur me tew speak eout. 

Ange. (Aside.) It will be hard work to crusade amongst ignor- 
antical people. ( To Hezekiah. ) Hezekiah, you did not under- 
stand my meanin'. You hev been brought up in the back of the 
woods and your nii*d is somewhat obfusticated and also rotundi- 
cated. 



68 AEEESTING THE MAECH OF INTEMPEEANCE. 



Heze. That's jist what I told Sal Jones, but she wouldn't believe 
me. 

Ange. Hired man, I wish to say to you that I am a crusader. 

Ilez. What upon airth's that ? 

Ange. Crusaders are women and young girls who go out and talk 
to people and try to show them that they do wrong in drinkin' 
whisky, ale, beer, brandy, gin and so forth. They also endeavor to 
get men to stop sellin' liquor. In short, crusaders are women of the 
female sex who are endeavorin' to stop the histrionic march of that 
outrageous and intolerable demon, intemperance. 

Heze. Yes, I see through it now. (Rising.) But I s'pose I'd 
better go eout and attend tew that work Mr. Bolivar left fur me tew 
dew. 

Ange. Hired man, sit down. The work before me is of more im- 
portance than the work before you. (Hezekiah sits down. ) Igno- 
ble and ignorantical hired man, you stand on dangerous ground ; 
you stand on the edge of a catastrophe ; you stand on a slippery 
place, and at any moment you may scoot over into perfection. 

Heze. Yeou don't say so ! 

Ange. Base and illegible hired man, are you aware of the juxta- 
position j'ou occupy and inhabit? Don't you know that you must 
stop your drinkin' or you will be dashed into a drunkard's grave ? 

Heze. (Rising and pretending to he, angry.) Wall, I'd jest like tew 
see the man that would try tew dash me areound. It can't be did. 
1 ain't a fightiu' man, but if anybody tries tew dash me areound he'll 
git himself walloped— that's all. 

Ange. (Aside.) Oh, how distressin' it* is to crusade amongst 
ignorantical people. But I'll try again. (To Hezikiah.) Heze- 
kiah, be seated. (Hezekiah sits down.) It appears that you do 
not understand my talk ; you hev come from the back of the woods 
and have not been used to high flown language. But hired man, I 
will say this : You must not continner on in your present evil course 
or you will be flung over that catastrophe and you will be lost for- 
evermore. 

Heze. (Springing up and pretending to be angry.) I jest want tew 
see the man that will try to fling me over a catastrophe or any 
other fee. I'd kerwallop him less'n no time. (Hezekiah sits down. 

Ange. (Aside.) Oh, what an ignorantical man he is! I will 
have to use common flat talk or he will not understand me. ( To 
Hkzekiah.) Mr. Hezekiah, it is an awful thing to drink intoxicating 
liquor, sich as brandy, rum, gin, whisky, ale, beer and wine. I am 
a crusader and I ask you to stop drinkin' liquor. 

Heze. Who upon airth told yeou I drank liquor? I don't-'dew 
nothin' of the kind, I'm a reg'lar eout and eout teetotaler, and I'd 
jest abeout as lief stick my hand intew a kittle of boilin' water as tew 
take a dram of liquor. 

Ange. Ah ! I was of the opinion that yeou were a drinkin' gentle- 



ARRESTING THE 3MAKCH OF INTEMPERANCE. 69 

niftn. Are there any of yonr family who so far forgot themselves as 
to take a drink of sperituons liquor? 

Heze. No, not one of 'em. I s'pose as heow yeou don't know 
nothin' abeout the Hawkins family ? 

A age. No, accordin' to the best of my recollectorin, I hev never 
met any of the Hawkinses. Mr. Hezekiah, you may seat yourself 
diagonally by my side and converse with me in a tender and touchin' 
way. You may speak of the Hawkins family. 

Heze. (Aside.) The old gal's getting sorter sociable. (Seats 
himself beside Angelina.) Wall, yeou see there was a good many 
Hawkinses. Hev yeou ever been deown tew Goose Run? 

Ange. No, I believe in all my checkered career I hev never set my 
foot upon the soil of Goose Run. 

Heze. Wall, yeou ought tew set yeour foot there sometime and go 
areound amongst the Hawkinses. They'd be mighty glid tew see 
yeou and they'd make a purty tarnation big fuss if yeou telled them 
as heow yeou was a friend of mine. Abeout the fust person yeou'd 
see if yeou'd go deown to Goose Run would be uncle Jeremiah Haw- 
kins. Uncle Jeremiah has a sou and his name is Azuriah. Azaviah 
is the only boy and gal that they hev got. I s'pose he's abeout twenty- 
five years of age, and he's got an awful long nose. He don't git 
along very well when he goes a sparkin' and I s'pose it's on ackeount 
of his nose. Azariah's n<>se is sorter red too, and I s'pose that makes 
it look bigger'n it r;iilly is. I s'pose yeou know there's some gals a; 
likes tew see a big nose, but the ginerality of 'em don't. Azariih 
once tuck a notion as heow he'd go deown tew Wingerley's and spark 
Jemima. I s'pose there warn't a purtier gal anywhere areound than 
Jemima Wiugerley. She had party eyes and a purty nose and she 
warn't a bit proud. Wall, Azariah Hawkins he tuck a notion as 
heow he'd go deown and court Jemima. He iled his hair and put on 
his best clothes, and he started off whistlin' Yankee Doodle. But he 
didn't whistle Yankee Doodle when he was comiu' home. Wall, I 
kalkilate he didn't Purty soon arter he got tew Wingerley's 

Enter Tom Bolivar, r. 

Tom. Hezekiah, father says for you to come out here and get to 
your work. He doesn't pay you for sittin' in there and talkiu' to 
aunt Angelina. 

Heze. (Rising hastily.) Wall, it warn't my fault. This lady 
wanted tew couverse with me, and of course I couldn't refuse tew 
come in ; it wouldn't hev been perlite. (Exit r. 

Tom. ( To Angelina.) What was that Yankee talking about ? 

Ange. Oh, he was telling me about the Hawkins family. You 
may run out now, Tom, I don't wish to be disturbed as 1 have some 
thinkin' to do. 

Tom. Who are you goin' to think about now ? 

Ange. Tom, you are an absurd and a reprobustical boy. I am 
not going to think about any man, whether male or female, but I am 



70 ARRESTING THE MARCH OF INTEMPERANCE. 



going to think how I cnn perform the most work in arrestin' the 
onward march of that diabolical demon, intemperance. 

Tom. Oh, if that's what you're goin' to think about I'll go away 
and not disturb you. 

Ange. Tom, before you go I want to say to you that I hope you 
grow up to be a temperance man and that you will put forth sul- 
phuric efforts to arrest the onward march of that diabolical demon, 
intemperance. 

Tom. Aunt Angelina, you're a buster. (Exit r. 

Ange. That is a profane and also a pregoshious boy. Now that 
I am alone I will take another sip of my Holland gin. This temper- 
ance lecturiu' sort of worries and curnummuxes me. ( Takes out 
bottle.) Gin revives and refrigerates me. (Noise outside.) Oh! 
there's somebody comin' ; I must put this medicine away. 

(Hides bottle. 
Enter Philip Barton, r. 

Philip. Good eveniu', Miss Angelina. 

Ange. (Rising.) Good evenin', Mr. Barton. You surprised 
me and caused my heart to fluctuate. You come as unexpectedly as 
a clap of thunder, but I'm jest as glad to see you as I would be to see 
the thunder. (Places chair.) Take a seat, Mr. Barton. (Philip 
seats himself.) I hev engaged in a grand and a cosmopolitan 
work. 

Philip. May I ax what kind of a work you speak of? 

Ange. Yes, you may ask and I will answer. I hev engaged in 
the work of crusadin' — that is, I am goin' to strive and endeavor 
to put forth an effort to arrest the onward march of that pusilla- 
nimous demon intemperance. Mr. Barton, intemperance is a bad 
pestilence and it ought to be arrested in its onward march. I wish 
to say something on the subject of intemperance to you, Mr. Barton, 
and I hope you won't feel bad nor get bobstreperous duriu' the course 
of my remarks. I understand that you are predicted to the use of 
speritous liquors, that is, I mean that you take a swig occasionally 
when you git a chance and there ain't nobody lookin' on. Oh ! Mr. 
Barton, turn from your evil ways, turn around and stop drinkiu' 
and git to doin' better. Of course, Mr. Barton, it is unpleasant 
fur me to say these things to you fur I consider you a good neighbor 
and I look upon you as a noble man, But when duty calls us we 
must git up and go regardless of the surroundin's. I believe it to be 
my duty to rush into the business of crusadin' and endeavor to 
arrest the onward march of that centrifugal demon, intemperance. 
I made up my mind to-day that I would go into the crusadin' 
business. As I am young in the business I may say things that 
would be better unsaid and undelivered. Therefore, Mr. Bartou, 
my speech may not be delivered with neatness and dispatch, but 
I feel that my heart is in the right place and I am steppin' bravely 



AEBESTTNG THK MARCH OF INTEMPERANCE. 71 

up to the work of nrrestin' the onward march of that vile and apos- 
tolic demon, intemperance. 

Philip. Miss Angelina, you have made a mistake, I am a total ab- 
stinence man ; I never touch, taste or handle. 

Ange. Goodness gracious ! Is it possible I hev made such a mis- 
take? I had been informed that you would take a drink occasionally 
when nobody was abeout to look on and thereby observe your doin's. 
Then, Mr. Barton, I come to you on bended knee, speakin' figgera- 
tively, and I ask your pardon. 

Philip. Oh, it's all right. I know you're trying to do a good 
work by endeavurin' to stop the onward march of — what kind of a 
demon did you call him ? 

Ange. Well, I hev different names fur him. Biit, Mr. Barton, 
are you enjoyin' life in all its freshness and flexibility at the present 
time ? 

Philip. Yes, I s'pose I might say I'm enjoyin' it that way. I've 
been buyin' sheep aud hogs lately and I allers enjoy life when I'm 
buy in' sheep and hogs. 

Ange. I believe you are what is called in natural history, a 
drover ? 

Philip. Yes, I am a drover, and sometimes I do a little in the 
butcheriu' business. 

Ange You are a noble man and the business of droverm' is a 
noble business. But do you not feel lonely sometimes? Doesn't a 
wave of sorrer or despondency or somethin' of that kind roll over 
your breast occasionally ? 

Philip. It 'pears to me I hev had some of them kind of waves 
rollin' over me lately. 

Ange. You ought to hev a companion to cheer you in your lonely 
hours, to soothe your sorrers, to kiss your aching brow, aud so 
forth. 

Philip. Well, I dou't care nothing about them things, but I'd like 
to hev a wife to render the tallow when I'm in the butcheriu' busi- 
ness. My tallow has purty nigh all gone to loss jest because I 
had nobody to atteud to the reuderiu of it. A butcher loses a 
great deal of money if he doesn't git his tallow rendered at the right 
time. 

Ange. Yes, that's a fact, and tallow is an important article these 
times. And oh ! I am sich a lover of fresh beef. 

Philip. I s'pose you hain't never done anything in the tallow 
business? 

Ange. No, I never did, but I am perfectly willin' to try. You 
know the poet says, "Where there's a will, there's a way," I could 
render the tallow and I could also cheer you in your lonely hours. 
I could read and sing to you aud I feel sure you would be a happy 
man. 

Philip. (Rising. ) I believe I'd better go home ; I hev a powerful 
pain in my head. 



72 ARRESTING THE MARCH OF INTEMPERANCE. 

Ange. A pain in your head, hev you ? I can cure that immediate- 
ly. ( Takes out Iter bottle. ) I Lev some Holland gin here, and it will 
stop the headache in a very short time. Take a mouthful or two and 
then 1 will batiie your head. 

Philip. Jerusalem ! A crusader with a bottle of gin in her 
pocket ! ( Whistles. ) "Whew ! ( Continues to whistle as he goes out. ) 
Whew ! whew ! whew ! (Exit b. 

Ange. What a rude and uncoupled man that is ! Well, he ain't 
nothiu' but a butcher and a drover, and what can we expect from a 
butcher and a drover? They haint got no refinement nor belles 
lettres about them ; they move in the lower walks of life ; yes, they 
move amongst sheep and hogs. A man that would go out from the 
presence of a lady whistlin' the way Philip Barton did ain't nothiu' 
but a hog. And he wanted me to render tallow for him ! The idea 
enrages me. He ought to go and live amongst the Hugentots or the 
Slaplanders. Render tallow fur sich a man as that ? Never! Well, 
I'll proceed and go torrid with the crusadiu' business. It is a noble 
work and I can't do better than to continner on and endeavor to do 
somethiu' to obstruct the onward march of that villainous demon, in- 
temperance. I will take a sip of my Holland gin, fur I feel kind of 
worried and uunervicated after conversin' with that unrighteous 
and uncoupled butcher. (Places the bottle to her lips. 

Enter Tom, r., and Hezekiah, l. 

Tom and Hezelciah. ( Speaking together. ) Ha! ha! I see you are 
endeavorin' to arrest the onward march of that diabolical demon, in- 
temperance. 

Ange. (Starting and endeavoring to conceal the bottle.) Oh, sich 
baboonical people as we hev around here ! 



Disposition of Characters. 



Angelina. 
c. 






+ <% 



Curtain. 



MAUD'S COMMAND; 

OS, 

YIELDING TO TEMPTATION". 

IN TWO ACTS. 



(73) 



MAUD'S COMMAND; 



YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 



CHARACTER. 

Harry Young. 
Cyrus Randolph. 
Julia Halstead. 
Clara Lambert. 
Maud Merxon. 



COSTUMES. 
Act I. — Modern. 
Act II. — Old and shabby. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Two tables. Four chairs. Decanter "with wine. Wine 
glasses. Pack of cards. 

Act II.— Table. Two chairs. Work basket and sewing. Lighted 
candle. 



(74) 



MAUD'S COMMAND; 

OB, 

YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A Room Neatly Famished. Table at back on which are bot- 
tles and glasses. Table c. Doors b., l. and c. 

Julia, Clara and Maud discovered seated. 

Julia. And so you are going to encourage intemperance by setting 
out wine this evening. 

Clara. What harm can it do to sip a little wine occasionally ? 
I'm sure I'm not one of those girls who are always harping on tem- 
perance. I can take a little wine and it doesn't hurt me ; I think it 
does me good. I have no patience with such girls as you, Julia, who 
are always raising their hands in holy horror when anybody speaks 
of taking a glass of wine. 

Maud. That's my opinion exactly. If a young lady doesn't want 
to drink wine she can let it alone, but it isn't necessary for her to get 
up a talk when other persons want to drink a little. 

Julia. You are both against me, but I feel sure I am right. When 
I think of the poverty and wretchedness that is caused by intemper- 
ance I feel that I am right in speaking against it at all times and un- 
der all circumstances. 

Clara. But we are not talking about intemperance. It is not 
(75) 



76 maud's command ; ok, 

intemperance to take a little wine occasionally ; it is temperance. 
I advocate the temperate use of wine, not the intemperance use of it. 
I advocate the vise and not the abuse. 

Julia. I do not think there is a single drunkard to-day who was 
not at one time a moderate drinker ; or, as you term it, a temperate 
user of intoxicating liquor. Yes, Clara, every drunkark's grave is 
also the gra,ve of a temperate drinker. Men and women do not be- 
come drunkards in a day or a week or a month. No, they are tem- 
perate drinkers for weeks and months and years, and at last they be- 
come bdemperale drinkers, or drunkards. 

Maud. Oh, let us talk about something else. I always did hate 
to listen to these temperance lectures. Clara has wine set out this 
evening and I am glad of it. I intend to drink a little of it, but I 
don't think I will be so foolish as to get drunk. I wonder if those s 
young men are not going to put in an appearance this evening. 

Ju\ia. I saw Frank to-day and he said he could not be here, as he 
had received a telegram from his uncle, and was obliged to go to the 
city immediately. 

Maud, I suppose you are well enough satisfied he is not here 
since Clara has set out the wine. 

Julia. I am happy to say that it would make no difference to 
Frank whether there was wine on the table or not. He has manliness" 
enough to refuse to drink on any and all occasions. 

Maud. Oh, dear ! He wouldn't refuse to pledge me in wine if he 
were here, would he ? 

Jidia. He would. 

Maud. Mercy ! what a strait-laced young man he is ! 

Julia. If there were more such strait-laced young men and women 
there would not be so many drunkards to-day. I want to tell you' 
what a certain writer says: "For the past ten years the cost of 
liquors in the United States has been six thousand million dollars, 
producing the death of five hundred thousand persons by drunken- 
ness. Think of this, and then think of the poor wives, widows and 
orphans this liquor has made; the deserted homes; the bleeding 
fcearts ; the wretched beings it has sent to prison and to the gallows, 
to poor house and asylum, and say if we should not, as a nation, have 
some fears for our safety if these things long continue. 

Maud- jOh, let us drop the subject. I'm tired of this temperance 
talk. (Boor bell rings— exit Clara, r.) They are coming now. 
'This will end the temperance lectures for this evening. 

Julia. I will endeavor to keep silent on the temperance question 
since it worries you so much. 

Maud. That's a good girl. But it seems to me that it is almost 
impossible for you to keep silent. 

Enter Haeby, Cteus and Clara, r. 

Harry and Gyrus. (Bowing and speaking together. ) Good even- 
ing, ladies. (Julia and Maud respond. 



YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 77 

Clara. Be seated. Harry, take this chair. Yon will not object, I 
know, because the chair is near to Maud's. 

limy. (Gayly.) I'd prefer to stand all night rather than sit 
there. (Cla.ua and Julia, laugh. Haruy takes the proffered seat. 

Maud. That's a peculiar way you have of standing all night. 

Clara. Cyrus,, will you take this seat? * 

Cyras. I believe I'll stand all night so as to be like Harry. 

(Seats himself. 

Clara. I believe I will not allow you to keep your seats. (Draws 
the table to c.) We will open the evenitig's entertainmeut with a game 
of whist. ( Throws down on table a deck of cards. 

Maud. Clara, I'm dying to taste your wine, Why not open the 
exercises by taking a slight drink. Of course it will enable us to 
play better. 

Clara. You' are right, Maud ; I. didn't think of it. (Clara Jills 
the glasses.) . This is for you, Cyrus. (Hands glass to Cykus. ) Tuis 
is for you, Harry. (Hinds glass to Haury. 

Harry. (Confused ond hesitating.) I — I — you must excuse me, 
Miss Clara, I — I have decided that I will not drink any more. 

Maud. She doesn't want you to drink more ; she wants j t ou to 
drink wine. (Clara and Critus laugh. 

Harry. Excuse me from drinking this evening. It does not suit 
me to drink; 

Cyrus. What has come over you? Haven't turned teetotaler, have 
you ? You used to be able to do your part on such occasions. 

Clara. (Setting down the glass.) Of course I will not insist on 
anybody drinking. (With a slight sneer.) I know there is a tem- 
perance feeling abroad in the land. 

Maud. Harry, you and I are engaged. That is known to this 
compan}'. I have sufficient confideuce in you to believe that you 
can take a drink of wine at the table of a lady friend and yet not 
become a drunkard. You either have not that much confidence iu 
yourself, or you are disposed to be rude. If I did not think you had 
firmness enough to take a drink of wine here and be temperate after- 
Wards I would cast you off immediately. You are a man. Now, will 
you drink my health? If you will not pledge me in wine to-night 
our engagement is at an end. I do not ask you to continue to 
drink ; if you wish to become a teetotaler you can do so. You need 
never drink agam, but I ask you to drink this once, and if you re- 
fuse, the engagement is severed. What is your answer? 

Harry. (Attempting gaiety.) Of course I will drink.. How could 
I live without you? 

Maud. I knew you could be a man, and I am proud of you. 

Jalia. (Aside. ) The time may come when she will not be proud 
of him. 

Clara. Everything is satisfactorily arranged now, and I will pass 
the glasses. (Hands a glass to each one, except Julia.) Julia, I sup- 
pose I need not offer you a glass of wine. 



78 maud's command; oe, 

Julia. You need not ; I do not drink. 

Hairy. ( Gayly.) I thought I didn't drink either, but T find I do. 

( They all raise their glasses. 

Cyrus. (To Clara.) I drink to your health^ and to the health of 
our temperance friend, Julia. ( They drink. 

Marry. ( To Maud. ) I drink to your health and to the health of 
our hostess. ( TJtey drink. 

Maud. ( To Harry.) It wasn't a serious matter ; it will not send 
you to destruction, will it? 

Harry. I think not. 

Clara. (Taking the glasses.) Now then for our game — what 
shall it be ? 

Cyrus. I vote for euchre. 

Maud. So do I. 

END OF ACT L 



ACT II. 
Time. — Three years later. 

Scene. — A Boom, denoting poverty and wretchedness. Two chairs R. 
Table u Lighted candle on table. Doors r. and l. 

Maud, now Mrs. Young, shabbily dressed, seated near table, sewing. 

Maud. Oh, this pinching want and poverty ! this wretched, wretch- 
ed life. How we are to live through the winter is more than I can 
tell. And when the winter is past what difference can it make? 
Neither winter nor summer bring any change or relief, but if possi- 
ble, matters are growing worse. I can expect nothing but drunken- 
ness and cruelty from Harry. He has descended rapidly and there 
can be no relief from this wretchedness until he drinks himself to 
death. Oh, who would have believed that Harry Young, so proud, 
so kind, 60 industrious, so intelligent, would in a few short years be- 
come a drunken and degraded being? Had I been able to read his 
future I am sure I never would have married him. 

Enter Harry, r., shabbily dressed, singing. 

Harry. " We won't go home till morning, 

We won't go home till morning, 
We won't go home till morning, 
Till daylight doth appear." 

Hello, Maud, what are you doing? 



YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. . 79 

Maud. (Aside.) He is not much intoxicated this evening. I 
•will talk to him and endeavor to show him that he is doing wrong. 
(To Harry.) I am doing some sewing for Mrs. Hay. I want to get 
some money so that we can buy something to eat. 

Harry. Talking about eating reminds me that I want to eat nay 
supp-.-r Why haven't you got it ready ? 

Maud. There is but one loaf of bread in the house. You can go 
to the cupboard and get it if you wish. 

Harry. I don't like to eat bread without butter. Hurry up jour 
B&wing and get us some butter. 

Maud I cannot finish this work before to-morrow evening. Did 
you succeed in getting a place to work to-day ? 

Harry. No, don't talk to me about work. I'm not going to work 
as long as I can keep from it. 

Maad. I don't see how we can live here any longer if you don't 
get work. The rent is nearly due, the weather is cold and we have 
no fuel, and we can scarcely get enough food to keep us alive. 

Harry. Well, if we have to die let us die and make no fuss about 
it. I don't care for any tiling now but whiskj 7 and brandy. 

Maud. Oh, Harry, will you not turn now ? Will you not give up 
this awful habit of drinking, and let us endeavor to regain our former 
position? You are out of employment and we are in the depths of 
poverty and wretchedness. I am ashamed to meet my former asso- 
ciates, and we are shunned by all respectable people. Oh, let us turn 
to-day and endeavor to do better 

Harry. You talk nonsense. It is too late to turn now. While I 
Lave a cent I will have liquor and as long as there is liquor made I 
will have it. It can't be otherwise; it is impossible for me to do 
without it. If I could have plenty of money I would soon drink my- 
self to death and then it would all be over. Therefore, if you want 
better times — if you want to be rid of me, sew rapidly, give me all the 
money I can use, and the drama will soon be ended, and I will be in 
a drunkard's grave. 

Maud. Oh, Harry, don't talk so. You know I don't want you to 
kill yourself drinking — you know I want you to live and regain your 
position in society — you know I would be proud of you if you were 
the same kind, noble and intelligent man you were before I married 
you. 

Harry. It is useless to talk of reformation ; it is too late to' reform. 
I made a mighty effort in that direction before we were married. I 
began to think I was drinking too much and I resolved to stop. I 
had not tasted wine nor strong drink for six months. I fully believe 
I could have conquered then, but you tempted me— you compelled 
nie to drink — you dragged me down to ruin. 

Maud. Harry, what do you mean ? 

Harry. I mean just what I say. A few weeks before we were 
married Clara Lambert had an evening party. There were present 
only Julia Halstead, Cyrus Randolph, Clara Lambert and you and I. 



80 maud's command. 

She had set ont wine and we were all invited to drink, I refused at 
first, but you insisted that I must drink your health, saying that if I 
refused to do so our engagement was at an end. Oh ! why did I not 
refuse? Why did I not assert my manhood? Why did I not tell 
you to go your way? But I yielded. I thought I loved you and 
could not give you up. I know now that I do not love you, for you 
have led me to destruction ; I cannot even respect you — I almost hate 
you. But you conquered. Yes, you wound me around your finger, 
and now you reap tlie bitter consequences. You have no one but 
yourself to blame for your present wretchedness. The slumbering 
appetite was aroused, and from that time forth it was impossible for 
me to live without intoxicating liquor. We were married, and for a 
time I struggled to overcome this passion for strong drink. You 
knew nothing of my struggles ; you knew nothing of my remorse as I 
found that I was surely going dowu to poverty and degradation. 
That is past now. I care not how fast I go ; I care not how soon I 
die ; I know there is nothing left for me but the drunkard's hell. 
And, Maud, this is all your work. You triumphed at the party and 
compelled me to drink, but you can't stop my drinking now. I must 
have it ; I must drink yet a little longer and then it will all be over, 
Then to a drunkard's grave and a drunkard's grave I will go. 

Mind. Oh, Harry, my life will be a burden now. Oh ! the un- 
speakable anguish of this hour. How can I endure it ? 






CUBTAIN. 



ABEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 



m TWO SCENES. 



(81) 



A BEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP, 



CHARACTERS. 

Daniel Rainbow, A simple minded youth who loves his "beer, 

Josephine Spaueding, An old maid. 

Robert Spaulding, Her nephew. 

Chables Theodore Bennington, A widower. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 



Scene I. — Two chairs. Pitcher of beer. Glass of beer. 
Scene IL— Table. Three chairs. Glass of beer. 



(82) 



A BEER DRESNER'S COURTSHIP. 



Scene I. — A Room. Chairs b.c. andii.a. Doors b. and Ij. 
Robert and Daniel discovered seated. 

I Robert. Daniel, have you ever thought about getting married ? 

Daniel. (Blushing.) Oh, oh, I don't like to talk about them 
things. 

Robert. You needn't feel afraid to talk to me, Daniel. You know 
I am a friend of yours. 

Daniel. Yes, I know ; yes, I know you are a friend of mine ; and 
I'm a friend of yours too, Robert ; yes, I am. You kin jist ax pap if 
I ain't. 

Robert. Then when you are a friend of mine and I am a friend of 
yours I shouldn't think you would hesitate to tell me about your 
thoughts on the subject of marriage. 

Daniel. Well, I'll tell you, Robert ; yes, I'll tell you all ; I'll tell 
you everything, Robert, fur I am a friend of your'n ; yes, I am the 
right kind of a friend. I'll tell you all about it, Robert ; you may 
jist ax pap if I won't. 

Robert. Then, have you ever been in love, Daniel? 

Daniel. Oh, it makes me feel so queer to talk about them things ; 
it makes my heart jolt and bounce around, 

Robert. But you have not told me if you have ever been in love. 

Daniel. Yes, I think I've been in ; I hev felt awful queer any- 
how. 

Robert. How did you feel ? 

(83) 



84 A BEEB DBINKEIi's COUBTSHIP. 

Daniel. Oh, I felt — well, I think I hev felt jist kinder sick, and 
sometimes I would be trimbly and then again I hev felt as if I was 
goin' to vomit. 

Robert. Then it must be a painful feeling. 

Daniel. Deed it is ; 'specially if a feller can't speak out and say 
what he wants to. 

llobert. "When you were in love did you not speak out and tell the 
lady about it and ask her to marry you ? 

Daniel. Oh, no, 'deed I didn't ; I never did ; you kin jist ax pap 
if I did. 

Robert. Would it not have been better if you had done so ? 

Daniel. Yes, I s'pose it would ; I'm putty sure it would, but I 
couldn't— no, somehow- 1 couldn't say nothin' and so I just had to 
feel bad and let them all go. 

Robert. Let them all go ! Did you love more than one ? 

Daniel. Oh, yes, heaps of them ; if you don't believe me you kin 
jist ax pap. 

Robert. I do not dispute your word. Will you tell me the names 
of those you have been in love with? 

Daniel. Yes, I'll tell you all about them, I'm a friend of ycur'n 
and I'd tell you a'most anything. (Gpunting on his fingers. ) First I 
fell in love with Samantha Sloper, or at least I felt queer when she 
was around. Samantha Sloper, that's one. Oh, my ! she wms a 
putty girl. She had sich putty eyes and sich a putty mouth. Oh, I 
feel bad now when I think about her. . Oh, dear, I wish Samantha 
had axed me. 

Robert. You didn't expect her to ask you to marry — did you ? 

Daniel. Well, yes, I sorter did and kinder didn't. I'd a been 
obleeged to her if she had. 

'Robert. Young ladies do not do the psking ; they expeet the men 
to do that. If you don't make up your mind to ask somebody you 
need hnrdly expect that you will ever get a wife. 

Daniel. Oh, I've tried putty hnrd to ax several girls, but somehow 
I neyer oould git it done. llobert, you're a good friend of mine ; 
couldn't you ax somebody to hev me ? 

Robert. Oh, no, that wouldn't be proper. The woman you marry 
will like you better if you do the asking yourself. 

Daniel. Yes, I s'pose that's so, but I don't think I kin ever git it 
done. 
Robert. Who were the other ladies you were in love with? 
Daniel. ( Counting on his fingers. ) Samantha Sloper, she was one, 
and Belinda Buffer, she was two. Oh, how I did like Belinda Buf- 
fer ! She had sich a putty nose, and she had sich a trimblin' way of 
talkin'. Oh, I feel putty bad when I think about Belinda Buffer. 

Robert. I will not wait to get the names of all the ladies you have 
loved. I have one selected for you. 

Daniel. (Springing up. ) You hev ! Oh ! goodness. Is she 
putty ? 



A BEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 85 

Robert. Yes, she might be considered passably handsome. She 
would make you an excellent wife. 

Daniel. Who is she? Tell me just right straight. Are you sure I 
kin git her? 

Robert. I think you can. But you must ask her ; you must not 
expect her to ask you. 

Daniel. Oh — I — I — yes, I think I kin ax her ; but I'm begiunin' 
to feel kind of quiverous a'readv. 

Robert. You must keep a brave heart and a stiff upper lip. The 
lady I have selected for you is my aunt, Miss Josephine Spaulding. 
Daniel. Jimihy ! she's purty old, isn't she? 

Robert. I suppose she is older than you, but that kind of a wife 
will suit you best. Her mind is matured and she will make you an 
excellent companion. 

Daniel. She isn't a putty girl — not half as putty as Samantha 
Sloper and Belinda Buffer. 

Robert. But you know, Daniel, beauty is only skin deep. 
Daniel. Yes, yes ; yes, that's so. That's a fact. That's what pap 
says about it, 

Robert. Do you think you can love her ? 
Daniel. Well, I can try putty hard. 
Robert. I think she would be very kind to you. 
Daniel. That's what I want; that would be right; that would 
suit me exactty. I like beer ; beer's good fur a feller. Do you think 
she would give me plenty of beer to drink ? 

Robert. It is probable she would. -Well, are you ready to make 
your first visit to her? 

Daniel. Oh, dear ; oh ! I feel kind of quivery. Where is she ? 
Robert. SLe is in one of the other rooms. 

Daniel. Well, I think— that is — I don't know — I believe I could 
talk better to her if I had a drink of beer. Couldn't you git me a 
small drink of beer? Beer sorter makes me feel strong and jist as if 
I didn't care for anybody. Yes, that's the way it makes me feel ; 
you may ax pap if it doesn't. 
Robert. If I get you some beer will you propose to her to-day ? 
Daniel. Pro — what? I never heard tell of that. 
Robert. Will you ask her to marry j r ou if I get you some beer ? 
Daniel. I'll try putty hard ; mebbe 111 fail, fur I git kinder skeery 
when I try to talk to a girl about them things, but I don't think I'll 
fail if I git the beer. Beer alius sorter makes me feel big and jist as 
if I didn't care fur anybody. 

Robert. Then you think if you get the beer you will not be afraid 
to ask her to marry you ? 

Daniel. Yes, I think I'll not be afeared. Beer helps me powerfully 
when I am a little skeery. I alters look upon beer as one of the 
-goodest things that can be found upon the land. 
« Robert. I will go and inform aunt Josephine that she may expect 
a visitor soon, and then I will bring you the beer. 



86 A BEER DBINKEe's COUETSHIP. 

Daniel. Yes— oh, dear— yes— I begin to feel a leetle bit skeery, 
but I think I'll be all right when I git the beer. 

Robert. I will return in a few minutes. (Exit e. 

Daniel. And I'm goin' to git a wife at last. I feel a good deal 
tickled about it and I feel a good deal skeery too. It's putty hard to 
talk to a girl about them things and I reckon I wouldn't try to talk 
about them at all if I wasn't goin' to git some beer to sorter strength- 
en me and make me feel kinder big. It seems to me that Josephine 
Spaulding is a putty old girl, and she hasn't got sich putty eyes and 
nose and mouth as Samantha Sloper and Belinda Buffer had. But I 
reckon she'll make a putty good wife ; Robert says she will, and he 
is well acquainted with her. I ought to be gittin' married — yes, I 
ought, and I mustn't let my skeeriness overcome me this time ; I 
must march right up to Josephine Spaulding and ax her if she'll hev 
me. If I git to talkin' to her about other things I s'pect the skeeri- 
ness will overcome me again and I'll hev to travel on and not hev 
any companion fur a wife. But I'll git some beer putty soon, and 
beer is the best thing I kin take for my skeeriness. 

Enter Robert, r., with a glass of beer. 

Robert. I have brought the beer. (Hands it to Daniel.) And 
now I suppose you will feel very courageous. 

Daniel. (Drinking.) Oh, that is sich good beer. ( Drinks again. ) 
Oh, I wish I had five thousand barrels of sich beer. (Drinks.) 
That beer is good enough to take the skeeriness out of anybody. 

(Finishes the beer and haiids the glass to Robeet. 

Robert. How do you feel now ? 

Daniel. Well, it 'pears to me I feel a leetle skeery yet. This is a 
big job and I spect it will take a good deal of beer to git me fetched 
up to the ri^'ht p'int. I don't care nothin' about the beer, but I 
think I ought to hev some more so I wouldn't git skeered and run 
away. 

Robert. I will get you some more beer. Of course I don't want 
you to fail. (Exit e. 

Daniel. A feller oughtn't to fail on sich an occasion as this jist on 
account of a few drinks of beer. I'll take a considerable lot of beer 
and then I'll feel kinder strong and jist like as if I didn't care fur 
anybody. 

Re-enter Robert, e., with a pitcher of beer. 

Robert. (Handing the pitcher to Daniel.) I think there's enough 
here to keep you from getting frightened. (Daniel commences to 
drink out of pitcher. ) Drink all of it and I think you'll not be afraid 
of all the Spauldiugs in creation. 

Daniel. ( Taking down the pitcher. ) Oh, that's the goodest beer I 
ever tasted. I wish I had a thousand barrels of sich beer. 

(Commences to drink. 



A BEEE DEINKEE's COUBTSHTP. 87 

Robert. If yon don't ask aunt Josephine to marry you I'll never 
give you any more beer. 

Daniel. ( Taking the pitcher from his mouth.) There, it's all gone. 
Now, I'm ready ; I don't feel a bit skeery. Take me to the old girl 
immediately. I kin ax her now. 

Robert. Come on, then. (Exeunt Robeet and Daniel, e. 



Scene II. — A Room. Doors e. and l. Closet o. Table c. Three 
chairs about. 

Miter Miss Josephine Spaulding, l. 

Josephine. Robert informs me that a gentleman wants to see me. 
I wonder who it can be. I wonder if it is Mr. Charles Theodore 
Bennington. Ob, how I should love to be united in the willin' bonds 
of wedlock to Charles Theodore Bennington. He is sich a noble 
man. Well, I am gittin' up in years ; there ain't no deuyin' that 
fact, but of course I wouldn't say it to anybody but myself. I must 
wear a smilin' face and be diligent or I sliill be an old maid. Oh, 
how 'I would shudder and feel bad if I should be an old maid. I 
must make an effort to get a husband, and if that effort should fail I 
must make another and another. I mustn't give up. I am goin' on 
rapidly to the centrifugal age of fifty. Where shill I git a pardner ? 
Shill I go out and ax a man to marry me ? Shill I go out and lay the 
case before Charles Theodore Bennington ? No, I believe I can't do 
that. But it may be that the geutleman. that wants to see me is a 
man who has heard of me and desires to become acquainted, or it 
may be that it is Charles Theodore Bennington. Mr. Bennington 
ought to have a wife. He has-five enterprisiu' children around him 
and when a man has sich a family of olive plants it behooves him to 
git a wife and not endeavor to bring them up himself. (Knock at 
door B.) Ah! he comes. Perhaps it is my future pardner who 
stands at the door. I begiu to feel that I am upon the verge of mat- 
rimony. But I must let him in or he may become disgustulated and 
prepare to absquatulate. (Opens door. 

Enter Daniel Rainbow, e. 

Daniel. Good evenin', or I might say good mornin'. Idon'tjist 
altogether quite -recollec' whether I ought to say good evenin' or good 
mornin'. But I s'pose it doesn't make very much considerable dif- 
ference. 

Jos. It is you, is it, Daniel ? I am somewhat disappointed. 

Daniel. Yes, this is me ; my name's Daniel Rainbow — yes, that's 
my name ; if you don't believe me you kin jist ax pap. 



A BEEE DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 



Jos. Yes, Daniel, I know you. Your phizmahogany is familiar 
to my bydrostatical revolutions. 

DanieL (Aside.) Thunder ! I wonder what that means. 

Jos. You seem to be somewhat bashful. Take a seat and sit 
down. 

Daniel. Yes, I believe I will. (Sits down. 

Jos. You are not the gentleman who wanted to see me I sup- 
pose ? 

Daniel. Was there a gentleman wanted to see you ? What did he 
want to see you fur? 

Jos. I am unable to state alphabetically what he wanted to see me 
for, but I had had a faint idea that he wanted to court me. 

Daniel. Jiminy ! that's what I have come fur, but I had putty 
nigh forgot. 

Jos. (Sealing herself beside him.) Oh, Mr. Daniel, did you really 
come to court me ? 

Daniel. Yes, I guess that's what I am after. But I didn't agree to 
come until I had got a hull pitcher of beer. 5Tou know there ain't 
nothin' like beer to make a feel strong and jist like as if he didn't 
care fur anybody. 

Jos. Ah ! Daniel, I fear you are not a Good Templeton. 

Daniel. (Aside. ) I don't know what that is. ( To Josephine.) 
No, I ain't quite sure on that p'int. But I hev got somethin' to say 
to you. 

Jos. Say it then, Mr. Kainbow, and I shall listen with a willin' 
ear. 

Daniel. Well I was jist goin' to say — I was jist goin' to re- 
mark 

Jos. Go on, Mr. Rainbow, you need not hesitate and capitu- 
late. , 

Daniel. No, I wasn't capitnlatin' ; I was jist coagulatin'. Hev you 
got any more beer about the house? 

Jos. Beer ! Why Mr. Daniel Rainbow, don't you know I am a 
teetotaler? No, we haven't any beer. 

Daniel. Well, if you had it would sorter help me along and keep 
me from feelin' skeery. Do you ever feel sorter skeery and trim- 
bly ? 

Jos. I believe I can lay my hand upon my heart and say I never 
do. % 

Daniel. And couldn't you say it without layin' your hand there? 

Jos. You don't understand me, Daniel. That is a figger of 
speech. 

Daniel. (Aside. ) Well, I sorter don't know what a figger of 
speech is. I tell you she's a hightaluter to talk to. 

Jos. What did you wish to speak to me about? 

Daniel. Well, I s'pose I might go at and tell you all about it, but 
I do feel a leetle skeery. 



A BEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 89 

Jos. Why should you be afraid? and why should your heart 
fluctuate? 

Daniel. If I had a sip of beer I could come to the p'iut. I ain't a 
skeery feller, giuerally speakin' — no, .1 aiu't— you kin jist ax pap if I 
am. But this is sometbin' I hev never doue afore, — no, sir, I never 
axed a gal until to-day and I feel putty skeery, fur she might say she 
wouldn't hev me. 

Jos. Oh, Daniel, I wouldn't be so cruel as to do that. 

(She rests her head on his shoulder. 
f Daniel. (Starting) Oh, Jiminy ! that skeers me. I never kno wed 
a g:il to do that afore. 

Jos. Daniel, you are too easily frightened. Can't you see that I 
think a great deal of you, Daniel? 

Daniel. Yes, I s'pose you do. (Moving away from her and ris- 
ing. ) But I've been thinkin' I'd better go home. I never courted 
anybody so long afore — no, I never did. That's jist as true as preach- 
in' ; you may ax pap if you don't believe me. 

Jos. Oh, Daniel, don't leave now when the conversation is becom- 
iu' so edify in' and also so iuterestin'. Come, sit down again and let 
us refrigerate ourselves by meauderin' in love's shady bowers. 

Daniel. I'm putty sure I couldn't court you any longer unless I 
had a sip of beer. You hev sich good beer about this house and I'd 
like to hev some more. 

Jos. If you will sit down, dear Dauiel, I will endeavor to get you 
a glass of beer. I am a totul abstitulator myself, but I know it is 
sometimes necessary, fur a person to have a sip o£ beer. 

Daniel. I am putty sure I couldn't come to the p'int in a proper 
rn; inner unless I had a sip of beer to sorter give tone to my nerves 
and make me feel as if I didn't care fur anybody. 

(Daniel sits doum. 

Jos. I will return in a few minutes, Mr. Rainbow, ( Exit h. 

Daniel. She's a putty nice old gal and if I was sure she'd let me 
hev as much beer as I could drink I'd marry her. But she's tol'able 
old. I reckon she's forty, or fifty, or sixty, or mebbe she's approachin' 
seventy. But she'll make a good wile ; Robert says she will and he 
knows putty well. It takes her an awful long time to git that beer ; 
I could git it iu less time. I wonder where they keep that beer ; I 
guess mebbe I might hook some of it some night when all the folks 
are iu bed. Beer was always a good article fur me to take. It 
allers sorter wakened me up and made me kinder feel as if I didn't 
care fur anybody. (Looking off.) Oh, the beer's coniiu', the beer's 
comin'. 

Enter Josephine, l., with glass of beer, 

Jos. (Handing the beer to Daniel.) I am a total abstitulator and 
I reckon it isn't quite right fur me to be placin' the glass to your lips, 
but there are times when a man needs a sip of beer. 

Daniel. (Drinks the beer.) Oh, that is sich good beer. (Sets 



90 A BEEB DBINKEr's COURTSHIP. 

down glass. ) Now, beautiful girl sit down and I'll sit down too, and 
I'll ax you if you'll Lev me. 1 ain't a mite afeared of anything when 
I git a glass of beer — no, not a mite. If you don't believe me you 
kin jist ax pap. _ ( They seat themselves. 

Jos. Ob, Daniel, you are a noble man. Were you ever in love 
before? 

Daniel. Oh, yes, heaps of times. Fust I tuck a likin' fur Saman- 
tha ISloper, and oh, I tell you I felt putty bad. 

Jos. Why did you feel that way? Wouldn't she marry you? 

Daniel. 'Deed I don't know whether she would hev married me or 
not, but I s'pose she would if I had axed her. 

Jos. And why didn't you ask her? 

Daniel. It was all jist because I was skeery and kinder trimbly. I 
couldn't say it nohow. 

Jos. You shouldn't be so much afraid of the ladies. Don't you 
know that they admire the man sect? Now I would not refuse you, 
Daniel. I know you want me, and could I be so hard-hearted as to 
say that I wouldn't marry you ? 

Daniel. No, I s'pose you couldn't. I have been wantin' to git 
married fur some time and I think you'll do. You are putty old, 
but I s'pose you're jist about as good a one as I kin get. 

Jos. I will love you fondly, Daniel. 

Daniel. And I s'pose you'll let me hev as much beer as I want? 

Jos. I am a total abstitulator, but yet I could not refuse to let you 
drink beer, Daniel. Now when we are engaged you might express 
your joy and gesticulation. 

Daniel. But how kin I express them things? 

Jos. ( Trying to blush. ) Oh, Daniel, don't you know? 

Daniel. I declare I don't. 

Jos. Then I will tell you, Daniel, and there will not be anything 
improper and unadulterated about it. 

Daniel. Oh, no, not a mite ; no, sir-ee 

Jos. Then you might imprint a sweet kiss upon my blushin' 
lips. 

Daniel. Do you mean that I might give you a buss? 

Jos. Yes, dear Daniel, that's it. 

Daniel. Well, why didn't you say so? You've got sich a queer 
way of sayin' things and I kinder don't understand you sometimes. 
You ain't a furnner, I s'pose? 

Jos. No, Daniel, but I try to speak in high-flown language. 

Daniel. It gits a leetle too high fur me sometimes and it sorter 
worries me. 

Jos. We are engaged, ain't we? 

Daniel. Yes, I s'pose we are kinder engaged, accordin' to my way 
of lookin' at it. 

Jos. And have you forgot? 

Daniel. Forgot what? I hain't forgot nothin' I guess, but I'd like 
to hev some more beer. 



k BEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 91 



Jos. Didn't you forget about the kiss ? 

Daniel. No, but I kinder think I oughtn't to kiss you until I am 
goin' to start home. I ain't a feller as forgits things ; no, sir-ee, no, 
sir ; if you don t believe me you kin jist ax pap. (Knock at door, r. 
Da.nii<:i< springs up.) Goodness! what'll I do? There's somebody 
com in'. 

Jos. (Rising. ) Just step in here. ( Goes to closet and opens door. ) 
"When our visitor is gone we can continue our courtin' Do not muke 
any noise. 

Daniel. It's a putty dark place in there. 

(He goes in and Josephine closes the door. 

Jos. I wonder who can be coming here. (Another knock. ) It 
may be a lover and I am all in a dilapidation. ( Opens door r. ) Why, 
Mr. Charles Theodore Bennington, is it you ? 

Enter Mr. Bennington, r. 

Mr. B. This is a beautiful day this eveuin'. 

Jos, Oh, yes, Mr. Bennington, this is a splendid, magnificent 
juxtapositional evenin'. I am delighted to see you, Mr. Bennmgton. 
Be seated, and sit down on a chair. (Mr. Bennington seals himself. ) 
Now give me your hat and I will place it in a baudbox or some other 
equatorical position. (Mr. Bennington gives her his hat. ) I am 
rejoiced to see you, Mr. Bennington, I haven't been as much de- 
lightificated for seven years. 

Mr. B. Yes, I thought as how I'd come over and talk to you a 
spell this eveuin'. I felt sorter lonesome ; you know there ain't no- 
body there but tho childer. 

Jos Yes, Mr. Bennington, and I have often wondered why you 
didn't come over oftener and also more frequently. It must be very 
solitudinal to sit all evenin' in your home surrounded by nobody but 
your children. 

Mr. B. Yes, it is sorter solitudinal — yes, that's so. 

Jos. You should go out into company, and also into societj', and 
seek companionship and durability and sich things. 

Mr. B. Yes, that's so. 

Jos. When you want companionship, Mr. Bennington, wander 
over this way and I will endeavor to converse to you in fluent accents. 
I often feel lonely and absquatulated too, and I am always delighted 
to see a gentleman of intelligence comin'. You are a gentleman of 
intelligence, Mr. Bennington. 

Mr. B. Yes, that's so. 

Jos. Would it not be beautiful, Mr. Bennington, if you could 
have a companion to sit with you around the family circle? 

Mr. B. Yes, I hev thought about that ; and there's another thing 
that I hev been thinkin' about. I hev been thiukin' that I hev too 
much to do. I hev to attend to things outside of the house and in- 
side of the house, and the children is a good deal of a bother. I 



92 A BEEE DEINKEE's COUETSHIP. 



want to git a wife to attend to the children and thereby I'll get the 
bother took off my hand. 

Jos. Yes, Mr. Bennington, you have far too much to do. It 
would worry the life out ot yon if you would go on thus and have no 
bosom companion to sail with you adown the stream of time. 

Mr. B. Yes, that's so, and I hev ccme over this evenin' fur to- 
fur to — I think we'll hev a purty heavy frost to-night. 

Jos. Yes, I suppose there will be a diabolical frost. But, Mr. 
Bennington, go on with what you were goin' to say. I think you 
were goin' to speak about another matter, and you need not hesitate 
and recapitulate. 

Mr. B. Well, I was goin' to say somethin' more, but I guess I'd 
better not say it at this time. 

Jos. Oh, yes, Mr. Bennington, go forward and say it. I am 
waitin' with a listeuin' ear. 

Mr. B. Miss Josephine Spaulding I hev come over this evenin' 
fur the purpose of axiu' you to be my wife. Will you be that wife, 
Josephine, and take care of the childer fur me? 

Jos. I will, dear Charles Theodore. Yes, dear Charles Theodore, 
I am thine. Now I s'pose I ought to lean against you ? 

Mr. B. Yes, that's so, and you ought to give me a buss. 

Jos. -Oh, dear Charles Theodore, ought 1 to do that? 

Mr. B. Yes, indeed. (He kisses her. 

Jos. Oh, Charles Theodore, I am so happy. 

Daniel. (Kicks the door of the closet and shouts.) Fire! murder! 
thunder ! Stop that ! Let me out ; let me out ! 

Mr. B. (Springing up. ) What's the meanin' of all that noise? 
. Daniel. Let me out, let me out ! < 

Jos. Oh, I shut a beer drinker in there when I heard you comiu', 
You need not be alarmed, he will not masticate nor destroy any- 
body. 

Daniel. (Bursting the door open and bounding out.) What's the 
meanin' of these here doiu's? Mr. Charles Theodore Bennington, 
you had better git out of this house putty quick. I hev had a hull 
pitcher of beer and I am aroused ; I don't care fur anybody. 

Mr. B. I believe you are not a dangerous man. The Rainbows 
as a gineral thing don't amount to much. 

Daniel. ( Speaking very loud. ) I tell you I'm aroused. I hev had 
a hull pitcher of beer. That woman belongs to me. I axed her and 
she said she'd hev me. 

Mr. B. Josephine, does this half-witted Baiubow speak the truth "i t 
Do you want to marry him? „ 

Jos. Marry Daniel Rainbow? Never! Would I marry sich a^ 

centrifugal person as Daniel Rainbow when I can get such a noble 

man as Charles Theodore Bennington? No: a thousand times 

no! 

Daniel. Oh, I feel putty bad! You said you'd hev me ; yes, you 



A. BEER DRINKER'S COURTSHIP. 93 

said you'd hev me. Oh, Josephine, will you act the villain and go 
awiiy and leave me? 

Jos. Would I descend fo marry sich a shoveling idjent as you 
when I can be united to sich a noble — sich an aristocratical bond- 
holder as the man whose arm I now take? (She takes Mb. Benning- 
ton's arm ) I answer with thunder crash and lightning speed, no 
never ! ( Waves her hand tragically. To Mr. Bennington. ) Come, 
we will away. 

Daniel. Oh, stop, stop ! Don't go away or I will feel putty bad. 
(Blubbers. ) Oh ! boo hoo ! boo hoo ! I've lost Samantha Sloper and 
Beliuder Buffer and now you're goin' too. Oh ! boo hoo ! boo 
hoo! 

Jos. He ain't nothin' but a- paregorical beer guzzler. Come, we 
will away. (Exeunt Mr. Bennington and Josephine, r. 

Daniel. Oh, she's gone ! She's gone ! I feel putty bad. (Blub- 
bers.) Oh! boo hoo! boo hoo! And that's jist the way it goes. 
Well, if I can't hev Josephine I'll go and git some more beer. Boo 
hoo ! (Exit r. 



Curtain, 



. 



RALPH COLEMAN'S 
REFORMATION. 



IN THREE ACTS. 



. 



(96) 



EALPH COLEMAN'S KEFOKMATION. 



CHARACTERS. 

Ralph Coleman, An Intemperate Husband. 

Maey Coleman, His wife. 

Julia Coleman, ) »™ j_ ^uj^ 

Daisy Coleman, f Their cMdrm ' 

John Stokely, Proprietor of a Drinking House. 

Bob Beown, " 

Jim Jones, 



y Loafers. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Bed. Small table. Three chairs. Ragged carpet. 
Act II. — Counter or box. Shelves. Bottles. Glasses. Pitcher 
on table. Chairs. Pennies for Ralph. Pistol for John. 
Act ILL— Same as Act. L 



(06) 



EALPH COLEMAN'S EEFOEMATION. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A Room. Carpet worn in holes. Bed near c. Two chairs 
b., one L. Small table near bed. Doors b. and l. 

Daisy Coleman discovered in bed ; Julia Coleman seated at bedside; 
Mks. Coleman sealed b., engaged in sewing. 

Daisy. Oh, bow bard it is to be sick and have to lie here all day 
and ali night If I could only get up and run around how happy I 
would be ! But I'm afraid 111 never get up again. Mother, do you 
think I will ever get well? 

Mrs. C. 1 hope so, my darling. I think you are better this even- 
ing. Your voice seems stronger. 

Daisy. I think I am not any better, and I think I will get worse 
and worse and in a few days I will die. I believe I am ready to die, 
mother, but I don't like to go away and leave you and Julia. Poor 
xnojher, you have so much trouble. 

( Julia bows her head and weeps softly. 

Mrs. G. (Going and seating herself at bedside. ) My little darling, 
do you feel that you are ready to die? 

Daisy. Oh, yes, mother,, I feel sure I will go to Heaven, but still 
I do not like to go away from you and Julia. I ought to like papa 
too and feel sorry to go away from him, but I can't, for he acts so 
cross when he comes home from the tavern and he scolds you, and 

(9T) 



98 ealph coleman's reformation. 

sometimes he strikes you. Oh, I can't like him for being so bad, 
and I can't feel sorry because I am going away from him. I wonder 
why Ave can't have a good papa like other little girls have. , Oh ! it 
would be so nice if he was kind to ns all the time. But he isn't kind 
very often now. He is cross and ugly to Julia and me, and he 
strikes you and swears at you. Oh, if we could all go away and leave 
him we could be happy again. Bat we can't go away and we have 
hardly anything to eat, and you have to sew and sew all the time. 
Oh ! I wonder why the good man up in Heaven allows whisky and 
gin and ruin to be made. Oh ! I wish He would strike every man 
dead that would try to sell liquor and make people drunk. If He 
would do that we wouldn't have any bad papa taking all the money 
and spending it for whisky and coming home and acting cross and 
uglv. Is papa at the tavern now ? 
Ms. C. Yes, dear, I think he is. 

Daisy. Then he will come home after awhile and maybe he'll 
strike you again. Oh, mother, why don't you run away and leave 
him when he strikes you ? 

Mrs. 0. My dear child, where could I go or what could I do? I 
must endure it and hope for better days. But you know your father 
is not harsh and cruel all the time. You know when he has not been 
drinking he is kind nnd gentle. 

Daisy. Yes,- but he is drinking all the time now. Mother T will 
die in a few days and when I am gone I think you ought to take 
Julia and g > away and leave papa. He might come home some 
night and kill you and then they would hang him. 

3frs. G. My dear, I think you had better go to sleep now. I fear 
you are talking too much. 

Daisy. But I know I am going to die soon and I would like to 
know how you are to get along. 1 am thinking about it all the time 
and it keeps me from sleeping. 

Mrs. G My dear, the Lord will provide for us and keep us if we 
but put our trust in Him. 

Daisy. But He does not keep papa from striking you, and some- 
time he may kill you. Oh! that would be dreadful. And w*hat 
would Julia do then? 

Mrs. G. Do not let these things trouble you, Daisy, but try and 
go to sleep. 

Daisy. I will, mother, but I keep thinking and thinking about 
you and Julia and it is hard to go to sleep. Julia, will you sing, 
"I am so glad?" You know we learned it at Sunday school. 

Julia. (Sings.) — 

"I am so glad that our Father in Heaven 
Tells of His love iu the Book He has given ; 
Wonderful things in the Bihle I see : 
This is the dearest that Jesus loves me. 



RALPH COLEMAN S REFORMATION. 99 

Chorus. I am so glad that Jesus loves me, 

Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, 
I am so glad that Jesus loves me. 
Jesus loves even me. 

Though I forget Him and wander away, 
Still He doth love me wherever I stray ; 
Back to His dear loving arms would I flee, 
"When I remember that Jesus loves me. 

Chorus. — I am so glad, &c. 

Oh, if there's only one song I can sing, 
Wnen in His beauty I see the great King, 
This shall my song in eternity be, 
'Oh, what a wonder that Jesus loves me.' 

Chorus. — I am so glad, &c. 

Julia. Mother, I think she is gone to to sleep. 

Mrs. G. My poor darling, I fear she will not be with us long. 
She will soon go down into the dark valley. ( Weeps softly. ) Oh, 
this is hard to bear. It wrings my heart in anguish to see her going 
down to her grave when if she had sufficient food and medicine her 
life might be saved. (Rises and walks about the room. ) Her father 
is drinking and carousing at the tavern and she is dying. ( Weeping 
and raising her eyes in prayer.) Oh, merciful Father, look upon us 
in our distress. Have pity, Oh, Ave beseech Thee, and turn the 
Death arrow away. Oh, let thy wrath descend upon those who for 
the sake of gain, bring sorrow and distress into so many households. 
Turn and overturn, we beseech Thee, and sweep this curse of all 
curses entirely from the land. 

(Sits down, buries her face in her hands and weeps. 

Julia. Mother, would you like that I would go for papa? 

Mrs. G. (Raising her head.) It would be of no use, he would 
not come ; and if he were here he could do no good ; he would only 
add to our distress. 

Daisy. (Waking.) Are you there, mother? 

Mrs.' C. (Conning to the bedside.) Yes, can I do anything for 
you ? -i 

Daisy. Raise my head a little, please. I had a beautiful dream 
and I want to tell it to you. I dreamed that I sat beside a beautiful 
river ; there were flowers all around me, aud the air was filled with 
delicious perfume. And I was happy— oh, so happy. There were 
angels there too, for I could hear them striking their h;irps and 
sinking glad songs. I thought I must be in Heaven for I felt so 
happy and so good. But it is all gone now ? Has papa come yet? 

Mrs. G. No, not yet. 

Daisy. I wonder if he will not come to-night. 

Mrs. G. I do not know. Would you like that Julia would go and 
ask him to come home? 



100 RALPH COLEMAN'S REFORMATION. 

Daisy. Oh, no ; I'd be afraid. You know, mother, how he scolded 
and swore when she went once and asked him to come home. I 
would like to see papa, but I don't wan't Julia to go, for she might 
get killed. 

Julia. I will go, Daisy ; I am not afraid. 

Daisy. No, don't go, Julia. I'd rather you would stay and sing 
for me. Will you sing, "Beautiful River?" 

Julia. Yes, dear, I will. (Sings. 

"Shall we gather at the river 

Where bright angel feet have trod ; 
With its crystal tide forever 
Flowing by the throne of God ? 

Chorus. Yes, we'll gather at the river, 

The beautiful, the beautiful river — 
Gather with the saints at the river, 
That flows by the throne of God. 

On the margin of the river " 

Daisy. ( Throwing up her hands.) Oh, mother, I'm worse ; there's 
something the matter. 

(Mas. Coleman and Julia both spring to the bedside. 
Mrs. G. (Raising her head.) What is it, dear? 
Daisy. Oh! 1 have such a strange fueling. I wonder if I am dy- 
ing. I would like to see papa before I go. 

'Mrs. G. Julia, will you go out and try to find him. Tell him that 
Daisy is worse and wants to see him. 

Jultd. Yes, ma'am. Oh ! I wonder if she is dying. (Exit r. 

Daisy. (Her mind wandering.) There will be no sorrow there 
and nobody will get drunk. Eveiybody will be happy and we will 
sing and play on the harps which Jesus will place iu our hands. 

( Tries to sing. 
" Oh, think of the home over there, 
By the side of the river of light, 
Where the saiuLs all immortal and fair, 
Are robed in their garments of white. " 

Daisy. It tires me to sing now, but when I get through the gate 
I will liave a harp and then I can sing better. Oh, mother, I wish 
you and Julia could come. I don't want to leave you here with 
papa. I know he will make you cry. I know he will not be good to 
you. Mother, kiss papa for me. Tell him I couldn't wait. The 
angels are calling me. Tell him to be a good man. Tell him — — 

(Ceases speaking. Music soft and low, "Sweet By and By," 
while Daisy is speaking the above lines. 

END of ACT I. 



BALPH COLEMAN'S BEEOBMATION. 101 



ACT II. 



Scene. — A Bar-Boom. Counter e.f. Bottles, glasses, &c, on shelves 
behind. ' 

Ralph Coleman discovered intoxicated, standing behind chair l., en- 
. deavoring to make a speech. Bob Brown sealed on a chair l.c. 
Jim Jones on the floor b. John Stokely behind counter. 

Ralph. Now listen, fellers — bic — an' I'll make er temp'rance 
speech — yes, a reg'lar temp'rance speech — hie. I s'pose yer didn't 
know I'd got in er temp'rance army. (Laughs a drunken laugh.) 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! — hie. Yes, I'm reg'lar temp'rance fellow now — 
hie— ha ! ha ! 

Bob. Yes, you look like it. 

Jim. (Laughs. ) He ! he ! Yes, he looks like it — he ! he ! I s'pose 
if he's in er temp'rance business he's travelin' as an egample — 
he! he! 

Ralph. Order, gen'lemen, while I am makin' this er temp'rance 
speech — hie. Don't wan' yer ter iut'rnpt me an' I'll make er good 
speech. I ain't been in er temp'rance army very long — ha ! ha ! an' I 
can't make a good speech if yer int'rupt me. 

Bob. Hear ! hear ! 

Jim. (Laughs. ) He ! he ! Tbat's putty good. 

Ralph. John Stokely, yer know how 'tis yerself, don't yer now, 
John Stokely — hie. I ain't been in er temp'rance army very long — 
ha ! ha ! But I'm goin' ter make speech. I guess I'm beginnin' ter 
feel drj r . ( Staggers up to counter. ) Gimme annurer drink, 

John. Have you any more money ? 

Ralph. ( Taking out some pennies and slapping them down on the 
counter.) Yes, plenny er money, ha ! ha ! hie. 

John. (Taking up the pennies.) What will you have this time? 

Ralph. I'll take er swig er branny this time for er change. I go 
in fur a change 'casionally. ( Turning and speaking to Bob and Jim. ) 
Change is written upon everything around here — hie— that's wha' the 
poet says. (To John, who has placed bottle and glass on counter. ) 
Tis branny ? 

John. Yes, that's brandy. 

Ralph. I wan'ed ter be sure 'bout it, fur yer see I haven't had a 
drink er brauny fur er good spell — hie. 

Bob. ( To Jim. ) He isn't goin' to ax us fellers any more. 

Jim. (To Bob.) I spec's his change is gittin' scarce, he ! he ! 

Bob. S'pose I sing er song while Ralph drinks his brandy which 
he paid fur with his last cent. 

Jim. (Laughs.) He ! he ! Go ahead an' sing er song. 



102 ralph coleman's reformation. 

Bob. (Sings.) — 

My mother and father they killed a fat hog, 
Aud made a blood-puddiu' aud chok-ed the dog ; 
Oil ! how I did laugh aud my si-deds shake 
To see the blood puddiu' my mammy did make. 

Ralph. (Staggering back from the counter. ) Tha's putty good. 
Jim. Yes, as good as branny fur oue. ( Laughs. ) He ! lie ! 
Ralph. Oh ! needu't say nothin ; your money gits scarce some* 
times zwell's mine. 
Jim. Now I'll sing yer a song. (Sings. 

"Bring the good old bngle, boys ! we'll sing another song — 
Sing it with that spirit that will start the world along — 
Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 

(Ralph and Bob join in singing the chorus. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! we bring the Jubilee ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the flag that makes you free ! 
So we saug the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 

John. You're makin' too much noise ; we can't have so mucl} 
Xioise in this house. 

Jim. ( Aside to Bob.) That's because our money's 'bout ran out. 
If we had plenny money er noise wouldn't trouble him. 

Ralph. ( Grasping back of a chair to steady himself ) You fellers 
can't git ter sing ; reckon I'd berrer go on with my temp'rance 
speech. 

B»b. Yes, go ahead. 

Jim. Berrer take annurer drink of branny first. 

Ralph. Leddies an' gen'lemen, I rise up 'fore you fur purpose of 
makiu' er temp'rance speech. 

Jim. Give'm annurer drink er branny. 

Ralph. (Getting angry.) Shut up, Jim Jones. There ain't no 
use foolin'. 

Jim. I'll jist shut up when I've mind to. Needn't git er danner 
up fur I kin thrash yer in less'n no time. 

Enter Julia, r. 

Julia. (Going to her father.) . Papa, mother wants you to come 
home. Daisy is worse. 

Ralph. You brat, wha' brought you here ? 

Julia. Mother sent me. Daisy is a great deal worse and she 
would like to see you. 



ealph coleman's befobmation. 103 

Ralph. Go to thunner, I tell .you. I don't want no nonsense. 
There's nothin' the matter with the brat ; she's jist actin' er fool. 
Git out er I'll give yer kick. . 

Julia. (Running to the other side of the room.) Oh, papa, don't 
hurt me. Please come home. Daisy is dying aud she asked for you; 
she would like to see you before she goes. 

Jim. (Standing between Kalph and Julia.) You er putty man. 
Why don't yer kick yer own child? That's all on account of er 
braunj r . 

Ralph. (Very angry.) Jim Jones, shut up ; I've had enough of 
your sass. I'll kill yer. 

(Runs to counter, picks up a glass and hurls it at Jim — Jim 
steps to 0)ie side and the glass strikes Julia on the head — she 
screams and falls. 
John. Stop \ we won't have any fightin'. 
Julia. Oh ! I'm killed ; papa has killed me. 

Ralph. (Going and kneeling beside her.) Oh, Julia, are you much 
hurt? Oh, if she should die what would I do? 

(Buries his face in his hands. 
Jim. (Aside to Bob.) That sobered him up putty quick. 
Ralph. Oh, this cursed liquor, is the cause of it all. Oh, Julia, 
don't die ; come back to me and I will never drink any more. Oh ] 
Julia, speak to me. 

Julia. I can't talk any, my head feels so very sore. I hear a rum-. 
ble ; I think there is a chariot coming. Maybe it is coming to take 
Daisy aud me up to Heaven. 
Ralph. Bob, will you run for a doctor? 

Bob. Yes, of course I will. (Exit b. 

John. I'd like you'd take your brat and go home. You had no 
business to git into a fight here. 

Ralph. (Risiug and standing before John.) John Stokely, may 
the curse of God rest upon you and all other men who for the sake of 
a little money are willing to furnish damnation to a fellow man and 
hurry him on to a drunkard's hell ! We know there is a God of 
Justice and we wonder that the rumsellers are not all shivered and 
crushed by the lightnings of his wrath. 

John. Oh, you've got very temperate and very virtuous now when 
your money is all gone. 

Ralph. And who was it that led me to this? Who was it that in- 
duced me to drink? Who Was it smiled so pleasantly when I had 
plenty of money and stood ready to kick me out of doors when I 
had none? It was you, John Stokely. Your tavern has been one of 
the gates of hell. Here the young men of the village have learned to 
drink ; here they have learned to gamble ; here they stepped upon the 
broad road and have been encouraged to continue on in their course to 
destruction. John Stokely, your power over me is broken. I came 
to this village with bright hopes and anticipations, and what am I 
now? A drunken, degraded sot. I do not lay the blame altogether 



104 balph coleman's reformation. 



upon you — I know I have been a fool — but to-night I turn. I re- 
solve here that I will never, never taste another drop of intoxicating 
liquor. ( With eyes upraised.) And may the God of justice and 
mercy support and assist me in tne hour of temptation and enable 
me to stand firm in my resolution. (To John.) John Stokely, you 
have received the last ceut from me. I will be a fool no longer, but 
I will endaavor to regain the position I have lost. (Going to Julia.) 
My poor darling, do you know me? 

Julia. Yes, papa. I have heard what you said and oh, I am so 
glad ! 

John. ( To Ralph.) We are having a little too much pious pala- 
ver. Git out in a hurry or I will kick you out. . 

Balph. Yes, John Stokely, kick me out if you can — kick me out 
if you dare. You have kicked me out when I was drunk, but I am 
not drunk now. Come, brave John Stokely, and kick me out. I feel 
that I have regained my manhood and I could crush the useless life 
out of you at one blow. Come, John Stokely, come, you foul agent 
of the devil aud kick me out. 

(He hdces Julia in his arms and carries her out r. 

Jim. (Laughs. ) He ! he ! That's the time he cowed you out. 
(Laughs. ) He ! he ! You ain't much of a fighter after all. 

John. (Angrily, and raising pistol J Git out of my house, or I'll 
shoot ! Git out ! 

Jim. (Banning out.) Oh ! don't shoot ! don't shoot ! (Exit r. 

John. I'll scare the dog, anyhow. (Fires pistol. Quick curtain. 

END OF ACT n. 



ACT m. 

Scene. — Same as Act I. 
Mrs. Coleman discovered seated at bedside. 

Daisy. Hasn't papa and Julia come yet? Oh, I would like to see 
them before I go. (Noise outside. 

Mrs. G. I hear a step ; I think they are coming now. 

Enter Ralph Coleman, r., carrying Julia in his arms. 

Mrs. C (Springing up. ) Oh, Ralph, what is the matter with 
Julia ? There is blood on her forehead. 

Ralph. She got hurt in the tavern, but I think not seriously. I 
will lay her on the bed with Daisy. 



ealph coleman's beformation. 105 



Julia. Oh, no, I'm not mnch hurt. My head aches a little and I 
am tired, and that's all. But, oh, I am so happy. Mother, papa 
says he will never drink another drop of liquor. 

Mrs. C. ( Throwing her arms around his neck. ) Oh, Ealph, did 
you say that? May God bless and keep you. 

Ralph. It was I who hurt Julia. I threw a glass at Jim Jones and 
it struck Julia. I thought I had killed her. Yes, Mary, I have been 
a brute long enough. By the'grace of God I will do better ; I will 
never enter that house again while liquor is sold there, and I will 
never again drink anything that can iutoxicate. • 

Mrs. G. Oh, Ralph, I am happy now, (turning to the bed) but I 
have not told you. Oh, I fear our happiness will not be unmixed 
with sadness. I believe Daisy is dying. 

Ralph. ( Bending over her. ) Oh, say not so. How could I en- 
dure it? (Bows Ids head and prays. ) Mercifal Father, have pity 
and spare her yet a little longer. Oh, spare her to me in my new 
life. Oh! (Sobs. 

Mrs. C. She is sleeping now. Shall t speak to her ? 

Ralph. Oh, yes, yes. I could not bear it if she should die with- 
out speaking to me. 

Mrs. C. Daisy, your papa has come. 

Daisy. ( Dreamily . ) Yes, I see ; all is bright and fair and beau- 
tiful. I'm coining — I hear your harps ; how sweetly they sound ! 
Yes, I am ready to go. I wanted to speak to papa and tell him to be 
& good man, but he hasn't come. I am coming. (Sings softly. 

" "We shall meet beyond the river, 
.By and by, by and by ; 
And the darkness shall be over, 
By and by, by and by ; (Stops singing. 

Mrs. C. Daisy, your papa has come. Don't you want to speak to 
him? 

Daisy, (Waking.) What is it, mother? 

Mrs. 0. Your papa has come ; you said you wanted to speak to 
him. 

Daisy. (Reaching out her hand — Ealph takes it in his. ) Is it you, 
papa ? 

Ralph. Yes, darling. 

Daisy. I wanted to see you before I would go. Kiss me, papa. 

(Ealph kisses her. 

Julia. Daisy, papa is never going to drink any more liquor. 

Daisy. Oh, papa, is that true ? 

(Mrs. Coleman and Julia weep softly. 

Ralph. Yes, my darling, it is. 

Daisy. Oh, I am so glad now. Oh, papa, God bless you, and 
help you to be a good man. 



106 EALPH COLEMIN'S REFORMATION. 

Ralph. Do you think you must go, Daisy ? 

Daisy. Yes, papa, the angels are waiting for me. I think I can 
hear their harps away on the other shore. Oh, J am so glad yon are 
going to be a good man. Mother and Julia will not cry now and 
feel troubled. I am so happy — I'm coming. Good bye to all, papa, 
mother, Julia. Oh, the delightful music ! How sweetly it sounds ! 

Mother, Jnlia, papa 

(All bow their heads — Music, "We shall meet beyond the 
river," soft and low as the curtain falls. 



Disposition of Characters. 



Daisy on bed. j>^ 

3 V *><r** Q 



CUETAIN. 



BAENEY'S RESOLUTION. 



IN ONE SCENE. 



am 



BARNEY'S RESOLUTION. 



CHARACTERS. 



Babnet McKendbie, In the habit of taking •' a drop, 
Nellie McKendbie. 



COSTUMES. 

Babney. — Irish peasant. 

Nemje. — First dress: Irish peasant. Second dress: White sheet 
around her, tall paper cap, white cloth over her face, with holes for 
her eyes, nose and mouth. 



PROPERTIES. 
Table. Two chairs. Pipe for Babnet. 



iioaj 



BARNEI'S RESOLUTION. 



Scene.— A Boom. Table c. Chair each side. 
Nellie discovered seated b. of table. 

Nellie. Sbure, an' I think Barney is sthayiu' away an awful long 
spill. I fale purty sartiu he's at the tavern again a dhrinkin' the 
little bit av money we make. Shure now and I think we have it hard 
enough gittin' along widout his makin' a pig av himsilf by goin' till 
the tavern an* gittin' dhrunk. If we don't git to makin' more money 
and savin' it betther, shure an' we will come to want and go to the 
poor houso, an' thin what would the McGee's, in the ould country, 
say about it? An' what would the Kearneys say ? An' the Weltons? 
Au' the McGlahertys? Oh, murdther, it makes me fale mighty bad 
jist to think about it. Shure an' didn't we set out till Ameriky wid 
flyin' colors? an' didn't we say as we'd be shure till get along? But 
we ain't gittin' along at all, at all. We're goin' down hill, an' I'm 
mighty 'fraid that if Barney doesn't git to doin' betther we'll purty 
soon all be in the poor house. We've been sthrugglin' wid this 
poverty that's atin' intill us, and the sthrugglin' isn't makin' us any 
sthrouger, but we are growin' waker and waker. Have we done any 
betther by comin' till Ameriky? Not a bit av it. Barney was only 
a bit av a dhriuker when we were in the ould counthry, but since we 
have come here he has been gittin' worse and worse an' if he kapes on 
he'll soon dhriuk us out av house an' home. Faith, an' we'll have till 
thurn over a new lafe or we'll go till destruction. 

(109) 



110 barney's resolution. 

Enter Barney, slightly intoxicated, r. 

Barney. Hurrah fur Ameriky ! And hurrah fnr Nellie McKehdrie ! 
Shure now, an' isu't she the uatest little artikle in all this siction av 
couuthry ? 

Nellie. Barney, ye've come home dhrunk again. 

Barney. Dhrunk is it, ye say? Shure, Nellie, an' ye've got into a 

bit av a mistake. Wud ye say that a gintleman like mesilf w'nd be 

afther goiu' an' gittin' dhrunk? Troth an' I'm not dhrunk, furl 

w'udn't be afther thryin' to disgrace me Nellie by gittin' dhrunk. I 

jist took a dhrink or two down at the tavern, fur ye see I haven't 

been faliu' well fur a spill, and when I ain't falin' well there's nothin' 

that braces me up like a dhrop av the craythur. Now, Nellie, ye 

know that I am verv much opposed to this thing av dhrinkin'. It is 

a'most shure to bring a gintleman down an' cause him an' his wife to 

come till poverty an' sufferiu'. But I must have a bit av a shmoke. 

(Tikes out his pipe and proceeds to Jill it.) An' there's Dinnis 

McFlackerty— ah ! I'm afeared he is gittin' to like his drap av the 

craythur a leetle too well. He was at the tavern to-day, an' he was 

dhrinkin' an' dhrinkin' an' I fale purty shure he w'udn't be able till 

git home widout some assistance from some parson. It's a purty sad 

state av affairs whin a man so far forgits himself as to dhrink a drap 

too much. But there is a good many paple as can't sthop at the 

right time — it wasn't any throuble fur me to do that. Murdther! 

w'ud anybody think that I'd be afther dhrinkin' too much ? I niver 

do sich a thing. I have a moind av me own, an' so had all av the 

McKendries — hie ! Shure now, an' what has brought thim ould 

hiccoughs back upon me? I don't want to he bothered wid them — 

hie. Murdther ! there ye go again. But as I wus sayiu' the McKen- 

dries all had a moind av their own. an' I have a moind av me own — 

shure an' I have, an' I'll niver allow mesilf or me wife, Nelly, to 

come till poverty by goin' till the tavern an' dhrinkin' up all we 

make — hie. 

Nelly. Howld yer tongue, Barney. Don't I know ye're dhrunk ? 
Shure, an' don't I know that yer tongue w'udn't run so fast if ye 
hadn't been to the tavern an' had been dhrinkin' ? An' as fur comin' 
to want, I think we'll come to it purty soon if ye don't git to doin' 
betther. (Pretending to weep. ) Och, Barney, we're goin' down hill 
an' it won't be long till we be in the poor house, an' it's all on ac- 
account av yer goin' to the tavern an' dhrinkin' up all we make. An' 
what'U the paple in the ould counthry say whin they hear about it? 
Shure, and they'll say it w'ud have been a great dale betther if Nelly 
had niver married Baruey, and they'll say it w'ud have been betther 
if she had taken their advice an' niver come to Ameriky. An' thin 
they'll cry an' cry an' fale mighty bad about it. Oh, dear me ! this 
is an unhappy endin'. ( Weeps. 

Barney. Whist now, me darlin'. Ain't my name Barney McKen- 
drie, an' w'ud a McKendrie let his wife come till want an' starvation? 



BAENEXS BESOLUTION. 1H 



Faix an' he w'udn't. Now, Nelly, don't tak' on that way fur yo make 
we fale mighty bad. Haven't I always been a good, nate husband to 
ye, Nelly, an' w'ud I forsake ye now an' go to dhriukiu' an' squau- 
dherin' me money? Shure an' I have a moind above that — yis, an' 
I'll niver do the likes — niver ! 

Kelly. That's what ye say ivery time whin ye come home from the 
tavern, but ye kape on goin' an' spindiu' the money, an' purty soon 
ye'll be a big drunkard an' I'll have till take in washiu' or we'll go to 
the poor house. Oh ! it's distressin' to think about it. 

Barney. Did ye iver hear of a McKendrie goin' to the poor house ? 
Niver! An' w'ud I so far forgit me proud ancestry as to kape on 
dhriukiu' an' at last go to the poor house? Again I say niver I 
Dou't be onaisy, Nelly. Shure, an' I call mesilf a nate husband an' 
I'll niver forsake ye nor lit ye come to want. 

Nelly. Barney, there must be somethin' done. If there isn't some- 
thin' done soon we'll come till poverty. AVill ye sign the pledge an' 
Bay that ye'll niver dhrink another drap av whisky, or wine, or ale, 
or gin, or brandy ? 

Barney. Faix, now, an' w'ud ye ax me fur till do that whin I 
have tould ye that I am a McKendrie an' I'll niver let ye come to 
want? 

Nelly. Och, an' I suppose it w'ud do .no good fur ve to sign the 
pledge, fur ye'd jist break over an' go till the tavern again and git till 
dhriukiu' worse an' worse. 

Barney. Nelly, what do ye take me fur? Aiu't I a McKendrie, 
an' whin did ye iver know a McKendrie as w'udn't kape his word? 
Faix an' if I w'ud iver sign the pledge I'd be shure to kape it.. 

Ndly. Then ye must sign it, Barney. It'll niver do fur us to go 
on the way we have been goin' fur shure we are goin' straight to de- 
struction. An' w'udn't it be a sad tale fur. to have sint over till the 
ould counthry that Barney McKendrie tuck to dhrink an' wint on 
until at last he fell iutill a drunkard's grave ; an' his poor wife Nelly, 
she had till take in washiu', an' thin afther a sphell she got ouable 
till wurruk an' she had till go till the poor house — poor thing ! An' 
that's jist the way it'll be, fur ye are goin' on an' dhriukiu' worse an' 
worse, an' that's jist the way they will talk in the ould counthry whin 
they hear about it ; an' so I tell ye, Barney, ye'd betther sign the 
pledge an' not disgrace yersilf an' me too. 

Barney. Is it signin' the pledge ye're talkin' about? Faix, an' 
don't I know me own business? I won't sign the pledge, naythnr. 
I can sthop drinkin' whiuiver I want till sthop, an' I'm goin' till take 
a drap whin I fale like it, an' I don't care a snap fur yer relations in 
the ould counthry. Whin I have a bad cowld I nade a drap av the 
craythur, an' whin I fale that I am goin' till have a twist av the 
rheumatism thin I ought fur till have a drap, an' jist as like as not I 
w'ud have been a dead man several times whin I had the rheumatism 
if it hadn't been fur the gin an' the whisky. Och, Nelly, ye naden't 



112 barney's resolution. 

talk till me about signin' the pledge, far I'm safe. If ye want till 
talk temperance ye'd bettber go over till tbe ould connthry au' talk 
till tbim same relations av yours as ye are supposin' will make sicb a 
fuss if I take till dhrinkin' too bard. Faix, an' if some av tbim are 
goin' on now tbe way they were afore we left fur Ameriky I think 
they have tumbled iutill drunkard's graves long ago. But, Nelly, let 
us talk about sometbin' else ; I don't think we nade be gittin' scared 
afore we're hurt. I've got sometbin' till tell ye. 

Nelly. I don't want till listen till yer talk whin ye are dbrunk. 

Barney. But I ain't dhrunk, Nelly, an' ye are slanderin' me be- 
hind me back whin ye say that. 1 know what I'm doin' an' I know 
what I'm sayin', an' I want till tell ye about Jamie Brown ; be saw a 
ghost last night, yis, an awful murdtherin' big spook, an' be was 
scared bad, an' be ran away. 

Nelly. Share, an' don't t know what kind av a spook it was? The 
man bad been dhrunk, and whin a man gits dbrunk be sees a great 
many quare things. 

Barney. Whist now, Nelly, don't be afther slandtherin' tbe man 
behind his back. Don't I know that Jamie Brown isn't a man fur 
till get dhrunk. He'll take a drap when be nades it just the same as 
I do, but he w'ud niver so far forgit bimsilf as to get dbrunk. An' I 
kin say tbe same av mesilf. 

Nelly. If be hadn't bad a drap too much he w'udn't have been so 
easily frightened. 

Barney. Now, be jabers, I tbiuk I'm a putty brave . man but I 
niver could sthand up an' face a ghost. Faix, an' I'm shure it w'ud 
be more than I w'ud want to look at. There's ghosts in Ameriky 
an' no mistake. Didn't I see one mesilf wid me own two eyes last 
December ? Faix an' I did, an' I tuck till, me heels an' run away, 
but I niver said nothin'- till ye about it, fur I knowed ye w'ud be afther 
makin' furi av me. 

Nelly. (Aside. ) I've got tbe idee jist now. I'll scare Barney — 
I'll scare him an' make him sign the pledge. Shure an' that's the 
bist idee I've got bould av fur a long spbell. ( To Barney. ) Bar- 
ney, I'll go out an' git ye a bit av supper. I reckon ye don't deserve 
a bite far goin' till the tavern an' dbriukin' whisky, but I won't be 
hard on ye, Barnej r , fur, afther all, ye are a purty dacent sort av a 
man. If you'd jist give up yer dhrinkin' I'm shure ye w'ud be a gin- 
tlemau. (Exit r. 

Barney. Faix, an' I thiuk I'm a gintleman onybow. I can't see 
that the dhrinkin' av a drap av the craythur occasionally qan kape a 
man from beiu' a gintleman. Nelly is a good d;de throubled about 
me ; she thinks I am goin' till destruction because I go till the tavern 
now an' then an' take a drap fur the good av me health. She thinks 
I'll git till doin' worse an' worse au' her relations in the ould coun- 
thry will git till hear about it an' they'll say. " We tould ye so ; we 
tould ye how it w'ud be. That Barney McKendrie was a worthless 
fellow an' we knowed how be w'ud come out." Now I'm jist as good 



babney's besolution. 113 

as Nelly's relations but I didn't hould me hid quite so high when I 
was in the ould counthry. I s'pose they think that Nelly stepped 
down a good piece when she tuclc up wid me. I reckon Nelly's re- 
latious are dhrinkin' a great dale worse than I am, an' I s'pose they'll 
go to destruction half a dozen times afore I go once. But Nelly's 
ueen a good wife till me — yis, indade she has, an' vv'ndn't I be cruel 
an' wicked to kape her wufferiu' jist fur the sake av gittiu' a drap now 
tin' thin'? Shute, an' I think I w'ud. I'll be a dacent husband an' 
I'll sthop me dhrinkin', an' Nelly shan't be throubled any more. I 
won't go back till that tavern once more, an' I'll never take another 
dhrink of intoxicatin' liquors, sich as whisky, an' gin. An' then, I 
think Nelly will fale a heap betther, an' I'll fale betther too, an' I'll 
Lave more money. I'm goiu' to tbry to be more av a giutlenian than 
[ have been. Av coorse it was a kind av a condescinsion fur Nelly to 
marry me, not but what I was jist as good as Nelly an' as much av a 
uintlemau as ony of her relations, but thin the paple av that neighbor- 
hood didn't consider me as bein' av quite the same sthandin'. An' 
whin Nelly's paple was opposed to the match av coorse they w'ud be 
ufther hollerin' an' hurrahiu' if I should git till dhrinkin' hard an' go 
till destruction. Therefore, I'm goin' fur till do betther an' let them 
all see that Nelly married a well doin' feller an' a gintlemau. Yis, 
I'll sign the pledge an' I'll niver, niver dhrink another dhrop. 
(Looks o^b.) Whativer undher the shinin' sun is this a comin' ? 

(Sprhigs up. 

Enter Nelly, b., with white sheet around her, a tall paper cap upon her 
head and a white cloth over her face, with holes cut for eyes, nose and 
mouth % 

Nelly. (Endeavoriny to speak in a sepulchral voice.) Barney 
McKendrie, stop an' hear what I have till say till ye. 

Barney. ( Seeming to be very much alarmed, and trying to get away.) 
Be jabers, don't touch me, Mr. Ghost, an' I'll niver, niver do it again. 
( Comes to front of stage and speaks aside.) It's Nell} 7 . She's thryin' 
till scare me, an' jist to plase her I'll pvetind till be very much scared. 
(To Nelly.) Och, now, Mr. Ghost, don't be alther touchin' me an' 
I'll endiver till be a gintleman. 

Nelly. Barney McKendrie, ye have not been doin' right ; ye have 
been dhrinkin' ; ye "have been gom' till the tavern an' yer poor wife 
has been falin' awful bad. 

Barney. Och, Mr. Ghost, don't talk that way till me ; ye make me 
trimble all over. 

Nelly. Barney McKendrie, ye will have till sthop yer dhrinkin' 
an' goin' till the tavern or ye will surely go to destruction. 

Barney. Murdther, ye don't say so ! Och, don't let me go till 
destruction, fur it w'ud be an awful down come on the McKendries. 
an' it w'ud make Nelly's relations fale most miserable bad too. if ye 
are goin' till tell me fortune tell me somethin' good. 



114 barney's resolution. 

Nelly. Barney McKendrie, ye are sthandin' on the edge a preci- 
pice. Jist take a step or two more an' over ye go. Beware ! beware! 
beware! 

Barney. (Aside.) She's tbryin' to scare me in till signin' the 
pledge. I guess I might talk till her a spill an' reason the case. ( To 
Nklly. ) Mr. Ghost, couldn't ye allow me till take a drap occasion- 
ally whin I have a bad cowld and don't fale very well? 

Nelly. B.irney McKeudrie, ye should niver diiriuk a drap. Doesn't 
the sciipters say till ye, "Touch not, taste not, handle not?" Thin 
ye ought fur till moind the scripters, an' if ye don't ye'll be shure till 
go till destruction. Barney McKeudrie, take warnin'. 

Barney. Ocli, now, an' ain't ye a most onrasonable ghost? Don't 
ye know that 1 have the rheumatism most murdtherin' bad sometimes? 
Yis, it makes me holler an' jump, au' a leetle drap av the craythur 
on sich occasions gives me reLife almost immediately. Now couldn't 
ye have pity on me an' let me take a drap fur the rheumatism? 

Nelly. Barney McKeudrie, ye are in great danger an' ye ought till 
sign the pledge. Ye oughtn't till dhrink a drap av liquor fur rheu- 
matism or ony thing else. No, Barney McKeudrie, don't be afther 
dhiinkin' ony more but sign the pledge an' then yer wife will be a 
happy woman an' she'll not go till the poor house, and ye'll not go 
till destruction. Take warnin', Barney McKeudrie, take warnin',' 
tike warnin'. Farewell, I shill lave ye now, but before I go I want 
till say ouce more, take warnbi'. (Steps backward as if to leave. 

Barney. Hould on now, Mr. Ghost, I want till ax ye a qnistion. 
(Takes a few steps nearer Nelly.) I want till ax ye about — I want 

till ax ye about 

(Makes a. sudden spring and catches Nelly in his arms. 

Nelly. ( Trying to release herself . ) Barney McKeudrie, beware! 

Barney. Faix, au' I will beware. But I said I wanted till ax yo a 
quistion, an' here it is, what did ye tear up the bed till git the sheet 
fur? (Commences to unwind the sheet, then pulls the cloth off Nelly's 
face. ) The top av the morniu' till ye, Mr. Ghost. Have ye seen 
onytbing av Nelly McKeudrie onywhere around here? 

Nelly. Och, Barney, ye're a broth av a boy. Shure an' didn't I 
waut till scare ye an' stop ye av dbrinkin' whisky an' sphendiug yer 
money, an' ye wasn't scared a bit at all, at all. 

Barney, Me darliu', Nelly, I am goiu till, quit dhrinkin' ; I'll 
niver take another drap, an' I'll sign the pledge right straight — faix 
an' I will. Now, then, give me a buss, Nelly. 

Nelly. (Pidting Iter aims around his neck and kissing him. ) Oh, 
I'm the happiest woman in Ameriky. I know ye'll kape yer wurrud 
fur ye're a McKendrie. ( Turning to audience.) An' I think ye'll all 
agree wid me that Barney is a gintleman. 



Curtain, 



COMMENCING TO WORK 



IN ONE« SCENE. 



.(115) 



COMMENCING TO WOKE 



CHARACTERS. 

Frank Dickson. 
Ha buy Bell. 
Willie Bubns. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 
Table. Three chairs. 



1116) 



COMMENCING TO WORK. 



Scene. — A Room. Table c. Three chairs about it. 
Frank, Harry and Willie discovered seated. 

Frank. We are only little boys, but couldn't we do something in 
the temperance cause ? 

Harry. ' I don't kupw what we could do. 

Willie. I know. We could learn temperance speeches and speak 
them, and maybe that would do some good. 

Ftwtic. And we could sing temperance songs. 

Harry. But if we should learn temperance speeches and speak 
them, who would listen to us? 

Willie. Oh, we would have plenty of hearers. You know it 
would be a novelty to hear a boy speak in the temperance cause. 

Harry. And would you just have one speech ? 

Willie. No, I'd have half a dozen, and I would try to speak them 
in such a way that everybody would listen. 

Frank. Couldn't we organize a little temperance societ}', and have 
speeches and songs and dialogues ? 

Willie. Yes, we can do that too, but I want to learn a few speeches 
and go out and speak them to big people. I think they will listen to 
me because I am a boy, and maybe some drunkard will hear me and 
stop drinking. Oh ! I would like to do something in the temper- 
ance cause. I think it is awfnl for men to get drunk and come home 
and beat their wives and children, and if I can do anything to stop 

(11*) 



118 COMMENCING TO WORK. 

it I'm sure I am willing to commence and to try. I will speak a few 
lines to you now When I commit a speech I will put them in so as 
to make my speech longer. (Speaks. 

" Grief banished by wine will come again, 

And come with a deeper shade, 
Leaving, perchance, on the soul a stain 

Which sorrow hath never made. 
Then fill not ihe tempting glass for me, 

If mournful, I will not be mad ; 
Belter sad, because we are sinful, 

Than sinful because we are sad." 

Harry. That's a very nice speech. Now I will speak one I learned 
some time ago. The name of my speech is ' ' The Victim. " • 

" A poor old man with haggard face 

And hair as white as snow, 
Lay on a heap of dirty straw, 

His life pulse beating slow 
Sometimes he sighed, ' I want to rest ! 

There's no one cares for me — 
I dreamed of dear old friends — I woke 

To friendless misery !' 

There comes a change — the pallid face 

Is flushed with purple now, 
His wild eyes stare, and hard, deep lines 

Are marked across his brow. 
' They come !' he cries — • tliey come again ! 

Oh, take them out of sight ! 
Must these things watch all day ? I thought 

They only came by night !' 

« Oh, Eleanor ! sweet Eleanor ! 

The gentle, loving wife ! 
I killed her with my cursed drink — 

I wore away her life ! 
Come, demons, with your clanking chains, 

And rattling hands of bone, 
Feed my parched lips with biting flames, 

I will not cry or moan : ' 

* But turn away those awful eyes, 

Whose gaze is like a sword ! 
Is ihat like Eleanor? — to stare 

And never speak a word ? 
How gleefully the specters dance ! 

Foremost they put a child 



COMMENCING TO WOEK. 119 

That long ago, for one short year, 
Upon me sweetly smiled.' 

'The loathsome serpents winding crawl, 

All slimy o'er the floor — 
The death's head, with its sockets dry, 

Stares in at yonder door !' 
' At last, with adder's tongue of fire, 

It stings,' the "wise man said — 
'And biteth with its serpent tooth!' — 

There lies its victim — dead !" 

Willie. That's a very good speech, and you speak it very well. 
When we get onr Temperance society organized you can give us a 
speech every night. Frank, can you recite a temperance poem ? 

Frank. No, I have never learned any temperance poems, but I can 
repeat part of a temperance lecture which Avas delivered by the cele- 
brated poetess and eloquent speaker; Miss Julia Crouch. Here it 
is : (Speaks. 

" There are many who object to women's raising their voices 
against or in favor of anything which concerns the masses. They 
believe that they must not be heard outside of their own and their 
neighbor's houses, except when they oblige them to appear in court 
and iu the presence of perhaps a thousand people, tell their story 
and be questioned by the lawyers as they see fit. But when a woman 
stands up voluntarily and tries to persuade people to be true and 
noble ; when her heart prompts her to speak the truth that it may 
be more universal, then you will hear men talking about woman's 
sphere and questioning her ability. What can a woman do more 
noble, more elevating, more praiseworthy, more heroic, more need- 
ful, more womanly, than to use her voice and Uer powers in speaking 
against intemperance? 

"Whom does it concern if not her? If men will cease to drink*, 
if they will rouse themselves to vigorous action and sweep away 
intemperance, women will not spend their time nor their talents 
in speaking against it. But so long as saloon keepers deal out 
the deadly beverage which makes men beastly instead of manly ; so 
long as men beat their wives and starve their children, so long as 
women are obliged to work to support themselves and their drunken 
husbands ; so long as intemperate sons cause their mothers to go 
down in sorrow to their graves ; so long as women have women's 
hearts and intemperance is aiming such a deadly blow to destroy 
their loved ones and their country, just so long will they implore and 
beseech men to be temperate." 

Harry. That is a very eloquent speech. Who did you say was the 
author of it? 
Frank. Miss Julia Crouch, the celebrated temperance lecturer. 



120 COMMENCING TO WOKK. 

Harry. Does she lecture now ? 

Frank. No, I believe not. 

Harry. I am sorry she has stopped lecturing. A lady who can 
write such a speech or lecture as that can -certainly do a great deal of 
good. 

Willie. I mean to be a great temperance lecturer when I get to be 
a man, but I am going to learn to speak temperance speeches now. I 
think I can do some good in that way. 

Frank. Yes, we can all do something. Of course boys can't do as 
much as men and great temperance lecturers, but they can have 
meetings and they can speak temperance speeches and sing temper- 
ance songs and they can do something for the cause. I have been 
reading some awful things about drunken men starving and whip- 
ping their wives and children and I think everybody ought to try to 
do something to put a stop to drunkenness and crime. 

Harry. I'll tell you what I mean'to do. You know Mr. Jones? 

Frank and Willie. Yes. 

Harry. Well, I intend to go to him and ask him to stop drinking. 
He is always very kind and very pleasant when he is sober, but wheu 
he drinks whisky he is very foolish. I am going to ask him to stop 
drinking, and maybe I'll speak a speech to him. 

Frank. Who shall we ask to join our society? 

Willie. Let us have Johnny Dean and Fred Grayson and Charley 
Wilson and Willie Ray and — oh, we might have all the boys. 

Frank. I'll go and tell Johnny Dean about it now. 

Harry. And I'll go and tell Fred Grayson and Charley Wilson. 

Frank. (Commences to sing and is joined bylhe olhers.) — 
"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, 
Hurrah for the temperance cause." 

( They all go out while singing. 



Ctjbtain. 



A TEMPEKANCE MEETING. 



IN ONE SCENE. 



wu 



A TEMPEKANCE MEETING. 



CHARACTERS. 

Alfred Addison, A worker in the Temperance cause, 

Koenig Klopper, A Dutchman. 

Barney Barnes, An Irishman. 

Hiram Hooker, A Yankee. 

William Wiggins, A laughing man. 

Rufus Remington, An exquisite. 

Benjamin Bradford, Hard of hearing. 



COSTUMES. 
Suitable to the characters. 



PROPERTIES. 

Desks. Chairs. School furniture. _ Pens. Ink. Paper. Letters. 
Pledge. Newspapers. 



(122) 



A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 



Scene. — A School Boom. 
At the rising of the curtain the characters are all discovered seated* 

Mr. Addison. (Bising. ) My friends, the business for which this 
meeting whs called has been transacted and I would now like to ask 
you all to sign the temperance pledge. You have doubtless heard 
what I had to say on the temperance question. I tried to talk to you 
on that subject last Thursday evening, and I wall not say anything 
more now* I wish, however, to read to you the sad experience of a 
man who gave way to strong drink. I read it to-day and it made a 
deep impression on my mind. The man who gives his experience 
was a minister of the gospel, afterwards a lawyer, and at one' time a 
member of Congress. I will read it. 

Barney. Hould on now. Faix, this isn't a timperance matin' an' 
I dunno as it w'u'd be altogither in ordher fur yez to be radin' tim- 
perance sthories. 

Hiram. Come neow, Barney, don't git obstreperous. The busi- 
ness is done, and some of the people air gone home, and I kalkilate 
w r e kin hev any kind of a meetin' v\ e w r ant tew neow. 

Barney. But this wasn't called fur a timperance matin', and be 
jabers it w'u'd be out av ordher fur to do any timperance business. 
This was jist a matin' av the citizens av Bulgertown to attend to the 
school house business. We ought to do timperance business at a 

.1123) 



124 A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

tirnperance matin' and school house business at a school house 
niittiu'. 

Koenig. Yaw, dot's so. 

William. (Laughs-.) Ha! ha! Barney and Koenig like to take 
a drop occasionally and that accounts for their opposition to the 
reading of the paper by Mr. Addison. (Laughs.) Ha! ha! Yon 
needn't be alarmed, gentleman, Mr. Addison won't compel you to 
sign the pledge. (Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! 

Koenig. Yell, now, I ton't see noding to langh at. It's de brinci- 
ple of de t'ing dot I am lookin' at now more dan de interest. I 
t'inks ve should do t'ings shoost righd. I t'inks dot beoples git 
indo drouble nine hoondred und ninety-nine cases out of a hoou- 
dred shoost pecause dey don't do peesness in de righd vay. If dis is 
a detnperance meetin' shouldn't ve do demperance peesness, uud if 
dis is a sgool house meetin' shouldn't ve do sgool house peesness — 
don't it? Let us do t'ings shoost righd und maype ve von't haf no 
more vars. Ye all know dot dis vas a meetin' to do somet'ings apout 
de sgool house, und now vhen ve haf got de peesness done ve ought 
to go home und not stay to do any demperance peesness. 

William. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! I suppose if Mr. Klopper wants 
to go home nobody will endeavor to restrain him. (Laughs.) Ha! 
ha! 

Mr. A. It seems that there are objections to the reading of this 
article. I do not wish to press the matter, but would like to invite 
you all to sign the pledge. 

Hiram. Go ahead and read the article. 

Rufus. I would just wemawk that I would be vewy much delight- 
ed with the weading of the awticle. 

William. Yes, of course. (Laughs.) Ha! ha! Bead the arti- 
cle. If it's a good article perhaps Koenig will sign the -pledge. 
(Laughs.) Hi! ha! 

Koenig./ Yell, I ton't see nodings to laugh at, und I t'inks a man 
is burty near not quite altogedder square vhen he is la ughin' all de' 
times shoost apout nodings. 

William. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! 

Mr. A. (Commencing to read from a paper. ) " But now that th« 
struggle is over " 

Koenig. ( Interrupibig him. ) Yell, I t'inks I'll sday und see apout 
dis demperance peesness. I don't t'ink it vould pe righd for you to 
do t'ings vot you oughtn't to do — don't it? 

William. Yes, it don't. (Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! 
h Mr. A. (Commencing again to read. ) "But now that the struggle 
is over I can survey the field and measure the losses. I had position 
high and holy. This demon tore from around me the robes of my 
sacred office, and sent me forth churchless and godless, a very hiss- 
ing and byword among men. Afterward I had business, large and 
lucrative, and my voice in all large courts was heard pleading for 
justice, «nercy and the right. But the dust gathered on my unopened 



A TEMPEBANCE MEETING. 125 



books, and no footfall crossed the threshold of the drunkard's office. 
I had moneys ample tor all necessities, but they took wings and went 
to feed the coffers of the devils which possessed me. 1 had a home 
adorned with all that wealth and the most exquisite tnste could 
suggest. This devil crossed its threshold aud the light faded from 
its chambers ; the fire went out on the holiest of altars, and, leading 
me through its portals, despair walked forth with her, aud sorrow 
and anguish lingered within. I had children, beautiful, to me at 
least, as a dream of the morning, and they had so entwined them- 
selves around their father's heart, that, no matter where it might 
wander, ever it came back to them on the bright wings of a father's 
undyin' love. This destroyer took their hands in his and led them 
away. I had a wife whose charms of mind and person were such 
that to see her was to remember, and to know her was to love. 
* * * For thirteen years we walked the rugged path of life to- 
gether, rejoicing in its sunshine and sorrowing in its shade. This 
infernal monster couldn't spare me even this. I had a mother who 
for long, long years had not left her chair, a victim of suffering and 
disease, and her choicest delight was in reflection that the lessons 
which she had taught at her knee had taken root in the heart of her 
youngest born, and that he was useful to his followers and an honor 
to her who bore him. But the thunderbolt reached even there, and, 
there it did its most cruel work. Ah ! me ; never a word of reproach 
from her lips — only a tender caress; only a shadow of "a great and 
unspoken grief gathering over th^old face ; only a trembling hand 
laid more lovingly on my head, only a closer clinging to the cross ; 
only a more piteous appeal to Heaven if her cup were not at last full. 
And while her boy raved in his wild delirium two thousand miles 
away, the pitying angels pushed the golden gates ajar, and the mother 
of the drunkard entered into rest. * * * And thus I stand: a 
clergyman without a cure ; a barrister without brief or business; a 
father without a child ; a husband without a wife ; a son without a 
parent ; a man with scarcely a friend ; a soul without a hope — all 
[swallowed up in a maelstrom of drink." 

(Me. Addison ceases reading and sits down. 

Barney. That gintleman is a purty good rader, but I think he is 
>nly thryin' to scare us. 

Mr. A. (Rising.) I have another short article I would like to 
lead. 

1 Koenig, Dot's de vay. Vhen he gits to read a biece den he shoost 
vnnts to git at und read annoder von. I t'iuks ve ought to adjourn 
.dis meetin' und sdop dis demperance peesness. 

lil/>-. A. The nrticle is short — only a few lines. 

W<irney. Be jabers, if anybody had tould me I was comin' to a 
timperauce matin' I w'u'd-a sthayed at home. 

William. (Laughs. J Hu ! ha! These foreigners don't like the 
temperance business. 



\ 



126 A TEMPEKA.NCE MEETING. 



Hiram. Go ahead and read as much as yeou hev a mind tew. I 
kaluilate Koenig and Barney kiu go home and git a drink if they're 
tired listenin'. Neow, I ain't no teetotaler —I take a swig of gin and 
molasses once in a while ; but I think L've got enough horse sense 
tew keep quiet when a man's got the floor and wants tew speak or 
read. Go ahead, Mr. Addison. 

Koenig. Veil, I s'pose you might read dot leedle biece nnd den I 
t'inks you ought to sdop. I t'inks ve hat" got burty bad out of 
order a'ready py turnin' dis sgool house meetiu' into a demperance 
meetin'. 

Mr. A. (Reading ) "Fires can consume your store-house, melt 
your iron blocks, and granulate, by their excessive heat, your struc- 
tures of stone; and yet out of the ashes shall rise new walls ; "the 
melted iron be replaced, the crumbling granite be restored, and com- 
merce rejoice with more adequate equipment for her necessities than 
before the destruction came. But when a man is wrecked ; when 
the pillars of his virtue are cast down and broken into fragments ; 
when the torch of inflammable appetite has kindled flames within the 
bosom which feed on the strength aud integrity of his soul ; when 
this is done, a ruin has been wrought greater than winds make when 
they pile up wrecks, greater than fire makes when it reduces ware- 
houses to ashes." Now, my friends, I have nothing more to read 
and I simply want to invite you all to sign the pledge. This is the 
pledge I ask you to put your names to. (Rends.) "I solemnly 
promise to abstain from the use of all intoxicating liquors as a bever- 
age, including wine, cider, and mSt liquors." Now, who will sign 
it? 

Barney. An' w'u'dn't yez allow a b'y to have a taste av swate 
cider occasionally ? Faith, an' 1*11 niver put my name to any sich a 
doc y mint. 

Koenig. You shoost petter sdop dis meetin'. Do you t'ink de 
beoples of dis Pulgertowu is notiugs but pig fools? Do you t'inks 
dey vould shoost cut off dere own head py siguiu' dere names to dot 
baper? 

William. (Laughs.) Ha! ha! If Koenig would cut off his 
head he couldn't drink so much lager beer. ( Lauglis.) Ha ! ha ! 

Koenig. Dot Villiam Viggins he is shoost is nod gwite righd apout 
in his mind. He is laughiu' all de time apout notings vich is not of 
much accoundt und of no consequence. # 

Benjamin. (Speaking very loud. ) What are you all talkin' about ? 
Why don't you speak out so that people can hear you? Ain't this , 
meetin' over yet? If it is over why don't we go home? 

Koenig. Dot is de gwestion dot I haf peen askin', but nopody • 
seems to know. ( To Benjamin.) Dey haf got iudo de demperance 
peesness. I s'pose you don't vant to git indo drouple py signin' dot 
baper. 

Benjamin. ( Speaking very loud. ) "Hay? 



A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 127 



Koenig. Vot under de sun do you mean py hay ? I von't dalk do 
a man v©t hollers dot vay. 

Barney. (Rises.) Gintleman, I git up, an' I want to be afther 
Bay in 1 a lew words about this tiniperance business. This man has 
been radin' to yez about different things an' he wants yez to sign the 
pledge an' say that yez won't take ony more whisky an' cider au' wine 
an' the loikes av that. Gintlemin, yez can all do as ye have a moind 
to, but as far as I know I won't sign no sich a pledge. I don't want 
to be afther surrinderin' my rights ; I don't want to stand up before 
the world an' say that I have no moind av my own, an' that's jist 
what I w'u'd be doin' if I put my name to that paper. Faix now, an' 
yez nil know that I am not a dhrinkin' man. I only take a drap 
occasionally whin I fale loike it, and do yez think I'm goin' to put 
me name to that docymint an' stop takin' me bitthers? Niver a 
once. 

Benjamin. (Speaking very loud.) "What's Barney talkin' about? 
Isn't this meetin' over? And it this meetin' is over why don't we. go 
home? 

Barney. I think ye'd betther go home an' git a spakin' thrumpet 
to hould to yer ear. 

Mr. A. Mr. Hooker, will you come forward and put your name to 
this paper? 

Hiram. (Rises. ) Wall, I'll jest tell yeou heow it is. Yeou see 
I belong tew the Hooker family. .The Hookers they live deown tew 
Blue Grass Holler and there's a consid'rable family of 'em. There's 
dad and uncle Sam Hooker and uncle Hezekiah Hooker and uncle 
Ephraim Hooker and uncle Peletiah Hooker and Aunt Susannah 
Hooker. Aunt Susanuah she's an old maid ; she never got married. 
They say there was a feller courted her fur a spell and they had made 
arrangements abeout gittin' married, but they got up aTpiarrel abeout 
somethin' or another and that put a stop tew their courtin'. Aunt 
Susannah she never sparked anybody arter that. There was several 
fellers cum areouna and wanted tew court her, but she wouldn't hev 
nothin' tew dew with 'em. Uncle Sam Hooker's got a purty big 
family of boys. There's Si and Jake and Sam and John and Tom 
and Jonathan and Ebenezer and Hezekiah. Dad's got a purty big 
family too. There's Bill and Ike and Bob and Tom and Hiram — 
that's me — and Erastus and Boanerges and Sal and Suke and Bets 
and Kiite. Uncle Hezekiah's family is as fullers : There's Joseph 
and "William and George Washington and Benjamin Franklin — and 
Benjamin Franklin's got a wart on his nose— and Clarissa Evaleua 
and Susannah Emeline and Juliana Mewilda and Thomas Jefferson. 
Thomas Jefferson is the youngest of that family. Uncle Ephraim's 
got a purty big family too. He called one of his boys George Wash- 
ington too, so's to be up to uncle Hezekiah. The oldest boy is 
Samuel Melancthou, and then there's Peter Aminad.ile and Sampson 
Boanerges and John Bunyan and McGinnis O'Donnell and Josephine 



128 A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

Jemima and Seraphena Mary Anna and Boxalena Jane Elizabeth and 
Juliana Stillastiua and Daniel McHenry. 

Benjamin. What's that Hooker man talkin' about anyhow? 

Hiram. Keep silent, old Mr. Bradford, or yeou'll put me eout. 
I don't want tew be interrupted when I am talkin' abeout the Hooker 
family. And uncle Peletiah Hooker he had a purty reasonable sort 
of a family too. There was Azariah Pontirificus and Jeremiah Alex- 
ander and Abimelech 

Rafas. Weally this is vewy distwessing. 

Hiram. (Continuing.) And Abimelech Jefferson and "William 
Henry Harrison 

Mr. A. My friend, I do not like to interrupt you, but really I 
don't see what this has to do with the question I asked you. I sim- 
ply asked you if you would be willing to sign the pledge I hold in 
my hand. 

Hiram. Yes, I know that was what yeou axed me, and I am en- 
deavoriu' tew answer, and fur the purpose of framin' my answer in 
proper words and givin' my reasons fur doin' as I shill do, it is ab- 
solutely necessary fur me tew tell somethin' abeout the Hooker 
family. 

Barney. Faix now, an' this must be a Hooker family matin' in- 
stead of a timperance matin'. 

Mr. A. All 1 want to know is, are 3^011 willing to place your name 
to this pledge, .and thus, by your influence, do good to those around 
you? 

Hiram. Wall, I was jest a comin' tew that but T wanted tew tell 
yeou abeout the Hooker family and show yeou that although there 
was sich a smash in' lot of the Hookers there wasn't a single one of 
'em as fur back as I know that ever cum tew be a drunkard. Neow 
isn't that sayirf a good deal fur the Hooker family. * 

Mr. A. Yes, my friend, it is. Now can you tell me how many of 
the Hookers signed the pledge? 

Hiram. Not a single one of 'em. The Hookers' were an awful 
sot people and when one of 'em sot himself agin driukin' a glass of 
gi;i or whisky he stayed sot and forty thousand people couldn't hev 
made him drink. When a Hooker said he wouldn't drink it was jest 
as good as if a Hooker signed a pledge. Neow, as I said afore, there 
was a smashin' lot of the Hookers and not one of 'em signed a pledge, 
and this bein' the case, why should the Hooker which stands afore 
yeou sign the pledge ? 

Mr. A. You say that you sometimes take a drink of gin and mo- 
lasses. Why not take the molasses alone ? ' Isn't the gin pleasing to 
your taste? 
Hiram. Wall, yas, I kalkilate it is. 

Mr. A. Then are you not afraid that the habit of drinking gin 

will grow upon you, and that you may in time become a drunkard? 

Hiram. See here, stranger, yeou don't understand the Hooker 

family. As I said afore, the Hookers air a sot people and when one 



A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 129 



of 'em takes a stand nothin' kin move him. Neovv if I should begin 
tew like gin and molasses a leetle too well I'd say tew myself, 
"Hiram, don't drink another drop." And Hiram wouldn't. 

Mr. A. But, Mr. Hooker, it is often the case that when a man 
commences to drink he feels that lie is in no danger until he is past 
redemption — until the habit has grown on him so that it is almost 
impossible to break away from it. And, if you think you are in no 
danger yourself, your name here would have its influence and it 
would probably induce others here to sign. 

Hiram. "Wall, I s'pose 1 wouldn't hev much influence over Barney 
and Koenig. One ot 'em likes whisky and the other likes lager, and 
I s'pose if the hull Hooker family would sign the pledge it wouldn't 
induce them to sign. 

Barney. Faix, an' it w'u'dn't. 

Koenig. Dot's pecause ve ton't t'ink as much of de Hooker family 
as you do. 

Hiram. Talk tew Barney and Koenig. They ought tew sign the 
pledge fur they're goin' tew destruction mighty fast. 

Benjamin. (Speaking very loud.) I'd like to know why we don't 
all go home. 

Barney. Answer next week. 

Benjamin. Ain't we goin' to go home to-night? 

Barney. I give it up. 

Benjamin. Why don't some of you answer me? Are you all 
deaf? 

Hiram. I kalkilate he thinks we areanyheow? Somebody talk 
tew him so as tew sorter keep him quiet. 

Barney. I c'ud talk to the ould gintleman if I knew what to 
say. 

Hiram. Oh, say somethin', it's no difference what. 

Barney. (Speaking very loud,) Hullo, Mr. Bradford. 

Benjamin. Hay? 

Barney. Have yez got ony soap? 

Benjamin. Hay ? 

Barney. (Speaking still louder.) Have yez got ony soap? 

Benjamin. Yes ; what did you ask that for? 

Barney. I jist wanted to git up a talk. 

Benjamin. Hay ? 

Barney. (Speaking still louder. ) I jist wanted to git up a talk. 

Benjamin. ( Shaking his cane at him. ) You ought to be thrash- 
ed. 

Barney. ( Speaking very loud. ) Hay? 

Benjamin. You ought to be thrashed, 

Barney. (Still louder. ) Hay ? 

Benjamin, (Still louder.) You ought to jb thashed. 

Barney. Hay ? 

Benjamin. ( Bush ing at Barney.) Ill Knock you down. 



130 A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

Hiram. (Seizing hold of Benjamin. ) Hold on, old feller. Would 
yeou strike a man because he's hard of hearin'? Shame on yeou? 

(Mikes him sil down. 

Barney. The ould gintleman ought to be ashamed of himsilf fur 
interruptiu' a timperance matin'. 

Mr. A. (Going to Benjamin and spreading the pledge before him. ) 
Will you sign this? 

Benjamin. Hay ? 

Barney. Faix now an' I think we'll have a rnoighty good crap av 
hay this sason. 

Mr. A. (Making signs.) I want you to sign this. 

Benjamin. (Reading.) "I solemuly promise to abstain from the 
use of all intoxicating liquors as a beverage, including wine, cider, 
and malt liquors." Yes, I'll sign that. ( Takes pen from Mr. Addi- 
son. ) This is the first time ever a pledge was offered to me. 
i ( Writes his name. 

j Mr. A. Whose name will be next on my paper? 

Bufus. (Rising.) 1 wish to make a wemawk. I weside in the 
city and I have just come to Bulgawtown on a visit. I was induced 
to come to this meeting and I have been amused and mstwucted. 
Aftew the fiwst meeting was ovaw, Mr. Addison wose and pwsenled a 
tempewance ple.lge and asked those pwesent to sign. Now I nevaw 
dwiuk whisky or bwaudy ; they aw vulgaw dwinks. I sometimes 
take a sip of champagne, but that's about all I iudulge in. Now the 
question awises, shall I sign the pledge or shall 1 continue to dwiuk 
champagne ? I have thought the mattaw ovaw aud I have concluded 
that I will sign the pledge. It is the duty of every man to do wight, 
and I have come to the conclusion that when a man is dwinking 
champagne, or whisky, or bwandy he is not doing wight. Mr. Ad- 
dison, bwiug me that pledge and I will take great pleasure in sign- 
ing it. 

Mr. A. (Holding the pledge to Rufus.) I am glad to take your 
name. Now, Mr. Wiggins, will you not give us your name next ? 
I (Rufus signs. 

' William. ( Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! Oh, I don't know. 1 suppose 
the paper's all right, but I don't want to promise that I'll never drink 
any more cider. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! I can't see that there is any 
sin iu drinking cider. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! 

Knenig. Mr. Viggins, he's fell to laughin' again. I s'pose dot Mr. 
Viggius laughs apout fife hoondred dimes a day pefore preakfast iu 
de mornin', und I am sheared some for fear he vill bust his laughin.' 
machinery altogedder up. Dot vould pe an awful consegwence. \ 

William. (Laughs.) Ha! ha! Ask Koenig to sign the pledge. 
He is in more danger than I am. He gets right boozy sometimes, 
and they say he slept in the gutter one night. 

\ Koenig. (Springing up and speaking excitedly.) Vot's dot you 
say? Do you say dot J. gits poozy? Do you say dot I sleeb in de 
gutter vidout any govers of quilts und plankets? You is von pig 



A, TEMPERANCE MEETING. 131 

story deller, dot's vot you are, Mr. Viggins, und you ought to pe 
ashamed of yourself uiid you ought to go home uud sday vid Mrs. 
Viggins uud de leedle Viggiuses uud nefer come to no more *gool 
house meetin's oggasionally ; und ven you do come you ought to 
git emptied out of de vindow uud spilled righd on de top of your 
headt, und den ven you had got emptied out fife, six or set'eral dimes 
you vould maype shoost learn a'ready to keep gwiet uud not do so 
much dalkiu' apout a Sherman vot had come from Shermany ofer. 
Dot's my opinion on dis demperance gwestion. (Sits down. 

William. Mr. Addison, I will sign the pledge. (Laughs. ) Ha ! 
ha ! If I should continue to drink cider 1 might learn to drink some- 
thing strouger. I might even learn to drink lager beer. Koenig 
Klopper drinks lager beer, and behold what a wreck he is ! (Laughs. ) 
Ha ! ha ! Bring me the pledge and I will sigu it. 

(Mr. Addison brings the pledge to William and he signs it. 

Koenig. (Rising.) Mr. Viggins says dot I am a wreck, vich 
means dot I am all dnmpled down uud knocked apout. Dot isu't 
de facts in de case nohow und Mr. Viggins knows it. (Straightening 
up. ) Do I look dot t'ing now a'ready ? Do I look like as if I vas all 
dumpled down und knocked apout? Veil, I t'inks not. Und my 
Vife she is a good stout vomans too, shoost like me. She ain't no 
dumple down vomaus. She can do a heap of vashin', ironiu', 
shcrubbin', sblittiu' vood und all odder kind of light voman's vork. 

Mr. A. Mr. Klopper, I think Mr. Wiggins was only speaking in a 
joking way when he said you were a wreck. Anybody can see that 
you are a stout, healthy looking man. 

Koenig. I knows dot Mr. Viggins is alvays dryin' to shoke und 
Bay funny t'iugs, but he nefer says notings dot is von pit fuuny, und 
he has to do all de laughin' at his shokes or dere vouldn't pe no 
laughin' done. Vhen a man laughs at his own shokes you may pe 
sure dot de shoke is purty thin or de man vot says de shoke is purty 
shallow. Dot's de gonglusion dot I arrife at in all cases of dot kind. 

(Sits down. 

William. (Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! I have nothing more to say. I 
feel that I am viped oud, (Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! 

Mr. A. I have now obtained the names of Mr. Bradford, Mr. 
Eemiugton and Mr. Wiggins. Who will be next ? 

Koenig. Veil, I knows von man a'ready don't von't pe next, und 
dot is mineself individually. 

"William. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! You don't call yourself a man, do 
you? 

Koenig. Veil, now, I do. You don't call yourself shoost gwite 
altogedder a shentleman, do you ? 

William. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! I don't want to converse with 
you, Koeuig. I am a temperance man now and you are a beer guz- 
zler. Sign the pledge and then I will talk to you. 

Koenig. Mr. Viggins, you can shoost go to tunder. Vot do I 
care for you. Mr. Viggins, 1 youldn't put my name on dot baper 



132 A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

under no agcount, nohow, nevertheless, shoost pecause you haf put 
your name dere. Da name of Koenig Klopper shall not stand pe- 
side de name of Villiam Viggins. 

Mr. A. Then, I suppose, anything I could say would not induce 
you to put your name to this paper? 

Koenig. Vould I sign a baper dot Villiam Viggins had signed? 
Veil, I t 'inks not. I haf a good deal of respect for you, but 1 can't 
sign ven Villiam Viggins has sigued. 

Mr. A. I will write a pledge on another piece of paper if you will 
sign it. 

K>enig. Veil, I vill sign it if you put in dot I must haf as much 
lager peer as I vants. I von't take no visky nor cider, but I must haf 
de lager. 

Widiam. (Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! You might just as well cut off a 
Dutchman's head as to cut off his lager. 

Koenig. Vot's de reason dot Viggins man talks so much ven no- 
pody is dalkiu' to him? I s'pose he vants to say funny t'ings so he 
can get to laugh. 

Mr. A. Mr. Barnes, will you not put your name to this paper? 
Here are three others who have signed. Can you not keep the pledge 
as well as they ? 

Barney. Faix, an' I can kape almost onything I git my hands on. 
But ye see, Mr. Addison, I think a little drap av the craythur is 
moighty good fur me whin I ain't faliu' very well. Now, one day I 
had the toothache moighty bad — it was the jumpin' toothache and I 
was purty near crazy, an' my wife Nora she come to me an' says she, 
" Barney" An' says I, houldin' me jaws an' jumpin' round, " What? 
Oh-o-oo !" An' says Nora, "Take a wee drap av the craythur an' 
maybe ye'U fale betther." An' I wint an' took a drap, an' the uiurd- 
therin' toothache stopped it's jumping right straight. 

Mr. A. But Mr. Barnes 

Barney. An' thin, if ye hould on, I'll till ye about another sar- 
CUmstance. I had a ragin' hidache one day — it ached so awful 
murdtherin' bad that it purty nigh split me hid open. An' me wife, 
Nora, she says to me, "Barney," jist the same as she said whin I 
had the toothache. An' says I, houldin' me hid an' jumpin' around, 
"What? Oh-o-oo!" jist the same as I said whin I bed the tooth- 
ache. An' says Nora, ? 4 Take a wee drap av the craythur an' mebbe 
ye'U fale betther." An' 1 wint an' took a drap, an' the murdtherin' 
hidache got well right away. An' thin Mr. Addison, whin a man 
feels kind av down in the mouth an' sort av undher the weather a 
little drap av the craythur wakens him up an' makes him fale as lively 
as a cricket. 

Mr. A. Then you think you will go on in your present course 
and run the risk of filling a drunkard's grave? 

Barney. Bedad, I'm not makin' ony arrangemints to fill ony- 
body's grave. I think if I take a wee drap accasionally whin I nade 
it I can manage to live fur a good spill. If Nora iver tells me that 



A TEMPEKA.NCE MEETING. 133 

I'm gittin' in danger av fillin' a drunkard's grave, faix an' I'll 
give up the dhrinkin' right straight an' go an' hunt you up an' sign 
the pledge. 

William. (Laughs.) Ha! ha! He is joined to his idols; let 
him alone. (Laughs.) Ha ! ha ! 

Koenig. Dot Yiggins man has proke oud indo anodder laugh. 

Mr. A. Now, Mr. Hooker, I come again to you. Will you give 
us your name? Will you not do something to stay tho tide of intem- 
perance whicti is sweeping over the land? 

Hiram, What upon airth can 1 dew? 

Mr. A. You can give me y«i\r name to commence with ; you can 
work in various ways. You are a good talker and you can talk to 
those around you ; you can warn the drunkard and you can warn 
the moderate drinker. There is work for all who are disposed to 
work. 

Hiram. Wall* neow, I hev a good mind tew put deown my name. 
The Hookers alters was a sot people and it never was no kind of use 
fur 'em tew put their names tew a paper fur the purpose of keepin' 
'em from doin' what they didn't intend tew dew anyheow. Bur, ns 
yeou say, the influence of the name may dew some good, and when 
Jake Brown and Pete White and Sam Jenkins hears as heow I hev 
signed the pledge I shouldn't wonder but they'd sign it too. Give 
me the paper and 1*11 spread my name over it. ( Takes paper and 
writes his name. ) Wall, that's the fust Hooker that ever signed the 
temperance pledge. Now, gentleman, I feel a heap better ; I feel 
that I hev enlisted in a good cause and I am goin' fur tew go tew 
"work and dew soinethin-'. There's a great many people that go intew 
the temperance cause and varus other causes, and don't do much 
work. But that ain't the way the Hookers dew. When a Hooker 
goes intew a job of work he goes intew it right ; he sticks tew it and 
he hammers away. The Hookers besides beiu' a sot people air also 
a remarkable people fur peggin' away. Neow, gentlemen, I hev give 
Dp the driukiu' of gin and molasses ; I won't take no more gin, but I 
expect tew hold on tew the molasses. I hev signed the pledge, but is 
that all I am goin' tew dew in the temperance cause? Wall, I kal- 
kilate not. I am goin' tew go forward and dew somethin'. I hevn't 
got much larnin' and I can't dew a great deal, but I kin dew a leetle. 
( To Barney.) Neow, Barney, I want tew say a few words tew yeou. 
Can't yeou put yeour name tew the pledge and stand on the side of 
the preachers and the gentlemen? 

Barney. Begorra, an' I think I'm a gintleman now. If it wasn't 
fur the toothache an' the hidache I belave I would put down me 
name, but a drap av the craythur is moighty refreshin' on sich occa- 
sions. 

Hiram. Pooh ! Barney ; when yeou hev the headache dash a 
bucket of cold water on yeour head, and when yeou hev the tooth- 
ache git the tooth pulled eout. That's all nonsense abeout whisky 
curin' the headache and the toothache. Yeou took the whisky and 



134: A TEMPERANCE MEETING. 

that made yeou forgit abeout the pain in yeour head and yeour tooth. 
I understand these matters. 

Barney. Be jabers, I belave ye are correct. I'll sign the pledge, 
an' faix I know I've got as much firmness as the Hooker family and 
I can kape it if you can. 

H iram. ( Waving h is hat. ) Hooray ! I've got one signer already. 
I must be a tip top temperance lecterer. I reckon I'd better start 
eont and commence tew lecter. Wouldn't the Hooker family be as- 
tonished? Neow, here, I've persuaded Barney tew sign the pledge 
and Mr. Addison, a reg'lar temperance lecterer, failed tew git him. 
Hooray fur the Hookers ! ■ • 

Mr. A. Here is the paper, Mr. Barnes, and I am glad you have 
consented to sign it. (Barney takes the paper and signs it. 

Hiram. Neow we hev all signed but yeou, Koenig, and it would 
never dew fur yeou tew go away without signin'. Yeou know intem- 
perance is an awful bad thing ; yeou know that the/lriukin' of lager 
beer is kalkilated tew make a big fool of a gentlemau like yourself, 
and yeou know it takes a consid'rable pile of money tew keep a gen- 
tleman in lager beer. 
Koenig. Yaw, dot's so. 

Hiram. Yeou eonght tew strive tew dew right and endeavor tew 
be a high minded Dutchman and a teetotaler. Yeou won't" never 
amount tew nothin' if yeou drink lager beer ; yeou will only spend 
yeour money and keep goin' deowu hill, and at last yeou will be 
landed kersock in a drunkard's grave. 

Koenig. (Aside.) Veil, now, isn't he von powerful man to talk? 
I guess I had petter shoost run avay for I aTu peginuin' to feel like 
signin' dot pledge. ( Coming to front of stage and speaking to audi- 
ence.) Dis meetin' is now adjourned. (Turns to go out.) I'm 
shoost goin' home righd straighd. 

(Goes out hastily. The other characters laugh. 



Curtain, 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 



IN FOUR ACTS. 



mi 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 



CHARACTERS. 

John Dennison, Proprietor of the "Eagle" saloon. 
William Dennison, His son. 
George Clayton, A polished rascal. 
Josiah Sprinkle, A Yankee teetotaler, 
Arabella Dennison, An old maid. 
Belinda Bobbin, Josiah's betrothed. 



COSTUMES.— MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Bar. Bottles, glasses, pitcher, tables, chairs, &c 
Act II. — Sofa, tables, chairs, footstools, ornaments, &c. 
Act III. — Same as Act I., and revolvers for John Dennison and 
George Clayton. 
Act IV.— Same as Act II., and book for Arabella, 



(136) 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE.* 



ACT I. 

Scene.— Bar-Boom of the "Eagle." Bodies, glasses, &c, behind bar. 
Doors r. and l. 

Mr. Dennison and George Clayton discovered seated. 

Mr. Dennison. I flatter myself that I have now got into a busi- 
ness which suits me exactly. I have worked hard on the farm all my 
life and i have barely kept my head above water ; now I am making 
money fast and I have no work to do. I was a tool that I didn't go 
into this business long ago. 

George. Yes, farming is a poor business. I found that out long 
ago. 

Mr. D. Some of my neighbors told me that it would not be right 
to dispose of my farm and go to selling liquor. And if my wife had 
been living she would have objected to it too. You see she was one 
of these raving, puritanical, temperance sort of women. She con- 
sidered it an awful sin to sell liquor. But my wife's gone and I 
didn't care a picayune what my neighbors said. One of them had 
the impudence to tell me that selling liquor was dealing out distilled 
damnation and that if I went into the business I would surely go to 
hell in the end. I told him to mind his own business and ii' I did go 
to hell he wouldn't have to account for it. 

(137) 



138 THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 

George. (Laughs. Ha ! ha ! There is no such place as hell. 
That's all sophistry, and T hope you don't believe in snch things. 

Mr. D. I used to believe that there was a heaven and a hell ; that 
heaven was above us aud hell below. My mother instilled these 
things into my youthful mind, but after I grew up aud commenced 
to read for myself I put away all such childish ideas. No, I don't 
believe there is either a heaven or a hell, and I dou't care a picayune 
whether there is or not — I'll sell whisky anyhow. There is more 
money to be made by selling liquor than by farming and I'd be a 
fool to stand back and let others make all the money. 

George. Yes, that's so. How long have you been in this busi- 
ness ? 

Mr. D. About six months. The man wno was here before me 
got squeamish and wanted to sell out. His wife talked to him aud 
prayed over him and persuaded hiin that he was doing wrong, and he 
got weak in the knees and decided to shut up shop and quit the 
business. 

George. I will be obliged to remain in this place a month or two 
longer, and if you have no objections I will make this my stopping 
place. 

Mr. D. I will be very glad to have you remain with us. You 
have been here for a few days and I find that you are a gentleman in 
every sense of the word. 

George. Thanks for your good opinion. I trust I shall always be 
worthy of it. 

Mr. D. (Rising.) Come and have a drink. I like to driuk with 
a gentleman. 

(Goes behind counter and sets down bottles and glasses. 

George. So do I, and therefore I am ready to drink with you. 

( They fill their glasses. 

Mr. D. Here's health, long life and prosperity to you. 

George. The same to you. ( They touch glasses and drink. 

Mr. J). ( Coming from behind counter. ) I never could see that it 
did any harm to take a drink occasionally. When a man is gloomy 
and depressed iu spirits it revives him aud cheers hitn aud gives him 
new life and vigor. Some men can't driuk without becoming drun- 
kards, but I am not one of that kind. I flatter myself that I have a 
mind, and can take a drink when I need it and let it alone when I 
dou't need it. ( They seat themselves. 

George. And I flatter myself that I am a man of that stripe too. 
I have no patience with those men who are led astray by their appe- 
tites. 

Enter William Dennison, e. 

William. Hello, Mr. Clayton, are you up for all day ? 
George. I believe so. 

William. I believe I am too, but I was rather late about getting 
up. I was at the show last night and of course I needed rest. I like 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 139 



the business the old man is in now a great deal better than farming. 
I have nothing to do and that suits me exactly. But I must have a 
driuk to sort of wake me up. 

( Goes beliind counter arid takes down botlle ami glass. 

Mr. D. William, you are rather young to commence to drink. 

William. (Filling las glass.) Oh, governor, you don't under- 
stand my constitution. A little whisky makes me feel like another 
fellow. ( Drinks. 

Mr. D. But there is danger that when a boy commences he will 
drink too much. 

. William. ( Washing the glass and putting it away. ) "Well, gover- 
nor, you needn't feel alarmed on that score. I am like you, I can 
take a drink when I feel the need of it, but I never drink unless I do 
need it. ( To George.) You see, the old man thinks I don't under- 
stand my business. 

George. ( To Mr. Dennison.) I think there is no danger of Wil- 
liam drinking to excess. 

Mr. D. I hope not, I hope'**not ; but it has seemed to me that he 
was drinking a good deal of late. 

William. (Laughs.) Ha, ha! You always did get scared at 
nothing. 

Miter Josiah Sprinkle, e. 

Josiah. ('To Mr. Dennison.) Look er here, squar', that felller's 
tumbled the hull load of hay right off onto the ground. I'd like tew 
know what's tew be done abeont it. 

Mr. D. Put it into the mow, of course. 

Josiah. Wall, it seems tew me that things aint goin' on right 
areound here, I think that load of hay ought tew hev been pitched 
in at once. 

George. You seem to be ruffled. Come and take a drink and that 
Will make you feel better. 

Josiah. A drink of what ? 

George. Whisky or brandy, just as you choose. 

Josiah. Jehosophat ! I kalkilate yeon don't know what yeou air 
talkin' abeont. My name's Josiah Sprinkle, and did yeou ever know 
a Sprinkle that would taste anything which would make a feller 
drunk? 

George. I did not have the honor of being acquainted with the 
Sprinkle family. 

Josiah. Wall, I know 'em from fust tew last, and yeou can't puf 
yeour finger on one of 'em that will make a hog of himself by gittin' 
drunk. 

. George. Lay aside your scruples and come and take a drink ; you • 
will feel better afterwards. 

Josiah. No, I won't lay aside nothing and I won't take a dram 
neither. Yeou must be a rale deown fool tew speak of such a thing. 






140 THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 

George. ( To Mr. Dennison. ) Your hired man speaks freely and 
unrestrainedly. 

Mr. D. Yes, it's a way he has ; but you need not mind him. 

George. ( To Josiah. ) Then you think you will not do yourself 
the honor of drinking' with me? 

Josiah. Wall,- tew tell the truth abeout the matter, I'd a heap 
rather go and drink eout of the waterin' trough, alongside of the 
squar's black and white calf. 

George. (Springing up.) Impudent greenhorn, I could thrash 
you in half a minute. 

Josiah. Wall, neow, yeou must be a purty good sort of a thrashin* 
machine if yeou kin dew that. 

Mr. D. Josiah, go out and attend to that load of hay. 

Josiah. All right, squar' ; I'd dew a'most anything tew git eout of 
sight of that air 'rang-atang. (Exit r. 

George. I am surprised, Mr. Dennison, that you keep such a 
fellow about you. 

Mr. 1). He was with me on the farm and it seems that he has be- 
come a necessity. We couldn't get along without him. 

George. Well, I'd teach him manners or I'd break his head. 

Enter Josiah, b. 

Josiah. Wall, neow, yeou don't say so. (To Mr. Dennison.) 
Squar', I forgot tew tell yeou that Sam Jones wants to borrow yeour 
sat Idle and bridle. 

Mr. B. All right, let him have them. (Exit Josiah, r. 

William. (Going behind the counter.) I must have another drink. 
I don't fetd well after being out so lute last night. 

Mr. D. William, I fear you are drinking too much. 

William. ( Taking down, bottle and glass. ) Pooh ! governor, don't 
get frightened ; I know a thing or two. I know I need a few drinks 
to-day. If I didn't need them I wouldn't take them. (Drinks.) 
Urn ! ah ! That cuts the cobwebs out of a fellow's throat. And it 
makes me feel like speaking. Hear me : 

" I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. " 

Hear me again : ' - 

"The play's the thing, 
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king." 

( Walks out r. with tragic step. 

END OP ACT I. 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 141 



ACT II. 

Scene. — The Parlor of Mr. Dennison's Rouse. 
Geobge Clayton and Arabella Dennison discovered seated on a sofa. 

Arabella. I am so proud and I feel so evanescent and parabolic to 
be acquainted with you. Brother John said you were a gentleman 
and I felt sure brother John was correct as soon as I set my optical 
optics upon you. 

George. I am very thankful to you and to your brother John for 
your good opiuiou. When I entered this house I did not know that 
the same roof covered such a beautiful and accomplished lady. 

Arabella. (Aside.) - He thinks I'm smart because I can say sich 
big words. I'll put in a few mora. (To Geokge.) The lightning 
in its slambustical course around this longitudinal sphere often in 
its toploftical fury strikes a black oak tree and knocks it into 
flinders. 

George. (Aside.) I'll keep even with her or burst. ( To Aea- 
bella. ) Yes, and I might say that the e pluribus unum of the sic 
semper tyranuus often causes the periphery to nix cum erou.se. 

Arabella. ( Raising her hands. ) ]s it possible? I am astonished. 
George. (Aside.) So am I. I think she's satisfied on that point. 
(To Arabella.) Miss Dennison, this is a beautiful world. 

Arabella. Yes, Mr. Clapton, it is delightful and slambustical. Are 
you a lover of poetry ? 

George. Indeed I am. Poetry is the delight of my soul. 
Arabella. That's the way it is with me. Poetry lifts me up ; it 
enlivens me ; it makes me feel like a nightingale or a woodpecker, or 
almost any kind of a bird. I will say a standard or two of poetry to 
you. 

11 In peace, love turns the shepherd's reed ; 
In war, he mouuts the warrior's steed ; 
In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 
In hamlets, dances on the green. 
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
And men below and saints above ; 
Por love is heaven, and heaven is love." 

Mr. Clayton, did you ever love madly, devotedly and masonically^ . 

George. No, I never did. 

Arabella. It must be beautiful to be in love. You know the poet 
Bays, "For love is heaven, and heaven is love." Mr. Clayton, you 
might sit a little closer to me. There would be nothing unproper 
about it and it would be easier to conversulate with you if you were 



142 THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 

not so great a distance. You know I have to speak jehemently when 
there is a space of nonentity between us. 

George. (Moving up to Arabella and placing his. arm around her. ) 
Yes, that's so. 

Arabella. Oh, Mr. Clayton, you are probably going too far in 
pi icing one of your armlets around my waist. It would be altogether 
right if we were engaged, but you know we have not yet entered into 
that delectable state. This is the first time that we have had the 
honor of sitting up with each other. 

George. (Removing his arm.) Yes, that's true. You must for- 
give my impetuosity. I admire you, Miss Denuison, and anything 
we love or admire we want to throw onr amis around. 

Arabella. Yes, I believe that is according to natural philosophy 
and hydrostatics. I did not know you loved me. Oh, it makes me 
blush and feel sort of palpitulated. This being the case, Mr. Clay- 
ton, you may place your arm around me again. It will be perfectly 
right and altogether correct. 

George. (Placing his arm around her. ) I have seen you but once 
before, Miss Denuison, but rest assured I admire you. 

Arabella. Call me Arabella and I will call you George. It will 
sound more confectionate like. 

George. Arabella, before we proceed to talk of love and marriage, 
will you tell me something about your property? I understand you 
are worth fifty thousand dollar's. Is this true? 

Arabella. Dear George, let me pillow my head upon your alabas-, 
ter shoulder and then I will converse in lucid accents about my 
property. 

George. Certainly, dear Arabella ; lay your head upon my shoulder 
and I will let my left arm encircle you. Thus we can sit and gaze 
out into the future. 

Arabella. (Resting her head upon his shoulder.) Oh, George, you 
talk just like a novel. Did you ever write a novel? 

George. Yes, I have writteu five or six. 

Arabella. (Raising her head.) Oh, have you? I thought you 
were a smart man, but I didn't know you could write novels. What 
is the name of one of the novels you perpetrated? 

George. I can hardly remember the names of them. I wrote them 
rapidly and they soon passed out of my memory. I think, however, 
that one of them was named, "The Haunted Castle ; or, the Bloody 
Butcher Knife." 

Arabella. Oh, what a terrifying name that is! I must git the 
book and read it. 

George. I fear you cannot get a copy. It is out of print. 

Arabella. What made it get out of print? 

George. Why you see, it was such a thrilling and terrifying tale 
that all the printers got frightened and ran away. One fellow was 
so badly scared that he ran to the North Pole and hasn't been heard 
from since. 



THE CLOSING OP THE " EAGLE." 143 



Arabella. It mnst have been an awful novel. That's the kind I 
like to read. Couldn't you get one for your dear Arabella? 

George. I'm afraid not, but I can write another one equally as 
good. 

Arabella. Do, dear George, and I will always love you. 

George. Now, beautiful Arabella, let your head repose upon my 
shoulder and proceed to tell me about your property. 

Arabella. (Resting her head upon his shoulder. ) Oh, it is delight- 
ful to have a shoulder on which to rest my sequestered head. It 
refrigerates me completely and entirely. 

George. Do you think you would be satisfied to rest your head 
upon that shoulder and journey with me adown the hill slope of 
life? 

Arubella. Oh, that is such a delightful way of asking the question. 
Yes, I would be satisfied ; more than that, I would be delighted, 
Dear George, I can be. happy with you, for you are a noveletter. 
Now you might imprint a kiss upon my unsiillivated lips. It would 
be perfectly proper and would make me feel very happy and enthu- 
siastic. 

George. After you have told me all about your property I will do 
as you request. You must not think that I need your money, for I 
am a novelist and can make more than I can spend, but I think we 
should understand each other perfectly before we enter into a matri- 
monial alliance. 

Enter Josiah Sprinkle, r. 

Josiah. Je-ru-sa-lem ! What upon airth does this mean ? The 
old gal's got a beau at last, and it's nobody but our scraggy boarder, 
Mr. CI ay town, 

George. ( Springing up. ) Get out of this, 3 T ou booby, or I'll kick 
3 7 ou into the middle of next week. 

Josiah. Sho ! yeou don't say so ! Wall, I aint a mite afeered of 
yeon, but I'll git eout and let yeou go ahead with yeoiw sparkin'. 
Afore I go, Miss Arabella, I'd jest say that 1 kalkilate Mr. Claytown's 
a purty slippery sort of a feller, and he's wantin' yeour money worse 
than he's wautiu' yeou. ( Exit r. 

George. That impudent hound ought to be thrashed severely. I 
can't understand why your brother keeps him here. 

Arabella. Oh, George, you need not care for the perpendicular 
remarks of Josiah. He is a person who does not stand on a level 
with us. While we are together let us think and talk only of our- 
selves. Sit down again and let me pillow my head again upon that 
atlantic shoulder. 

George. (Aside.) She's the biggest fool in all creation. (To 
Arabella.) Yes, dear Arabella, we will seat ourselves again upon 
the sofa and continue our conversation. ( They seat themselves and 
Arabella rests her head upon his shoulder.) I was asking about 



144 THE CLOSING OF THE " EAGLE." 

your property. How much money have you, and how is it in- 
vested ? 

Arabella. As near as I can tell, I have fifty thousand dollars. 
Wbeu we are married, you shall have it all. 

George. Good, kind Arabella, do you say so? I will kiss you 
now, for you aro a beautiful woman. (Kisses her. 

Arabella. Ob, dear George, that makes me blush, and it also 
makes me feel enthusiastic. You might kiss me again. The fifty 
thousand shall all be yours. 

George. Excellent woman ! Beautiful woman ! (Kisses her. 

Enter Josiah Sprinkle, r. 

Josiah. Hail Columby ! That's powerful sparkin'. But, you see, 
Mr. Claytown, yeou'll hev tew stop. I told tbe squar' as heow yeou 
was a sparkin' the old gal, and he said he kalkijated yeou'd better 
stop, as yeou was only wantin' her money. I s'posed as heow I'd 
better come immediately and tell yeou abeout it. Yeou hev done 
abeout enough bussiu' fur one day. 

Arabella. (Rising and speaking excitedly.) Dog of a villainous 
cut tbroat ! Impudent and slambanktious hired man ! Pusillani- 
mous pick-pocket ! How dare you come into our presence when we 
are revelling in Cupid's bower aod galloping in Elysian fields? Go 
out immediately and do not dare to come into our august and Sep- 
tember presence again. 

Josiah. Good land of Goshen! The old gal's got her-dander up. 

C Exit b. 

Arabella. Seat yourself again, dear George, and we will proceed 
with our courtship. 

George. No, I'll not sit down ; that impudent Yankee will be in 
again in a minute. Farewell for a short time. I will bope to see 
you again soon when we can converse without being disturbed. 

(Exit r. 

Arabella. He is gone. The shadow of his footsteps are still 
sounding Upon the tmpannum of my ear. Oh ! what a happy girl I 
am ! He has asked me to be his companion and I have consented. 
The day dawns brightly and everything begins to look pugilistical. 
What a happy girl I am ! But I must away and prepare for the 
nupticals. (Exit l. 

END OF ACT H, 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 145 

ACT III. 

Scene. — Samezas Act I, 

Mr. Dennison discovered walking about 

Mr. D. I'm getting into trouble and everything seems to be going 
wrong. Tbat rascal Clayton bas fleeced me out of several hundred 
dollars and now be is getting around Arabella, tbe old fool, and 
making her believe that he wants to marry her. I thought I had put 
a stop to their courtship, but it seems that they are meeting clandes- 
tinely. I'll shoot the dog if he doesn't keep away from this place. 
(Takes out revolver and examines it. ) I won't be trifled with. He 
has taken my money, and now he wants to take Arabella's too. 
(Puts his revolver in his pocket) He is making 'a drunkard of Wil- 
liam—in short, he is destroying our home. Ruin is staring me in 
the face. I'll take a drink and that will nerve me for meeting Clay- 
ton. (Goes behind cowder and takes down bottle.) I have sent for 
him and he'd better come. (Drinks.) I am aroused now— I will 
not be trifled with any longer. He will have to pay back the money 
he took from me and he will have to leave this place or I will shoot 
him. I will take auother drink. I need something to rouse me and 
prepare me to talk fiercely to the rascal. (Drinks. 

Enter George Clayton, r. 

George. Ah ! you are taking your morning's potation. 

Mr. D. (Slightly intoxicated.) Well, what if 1 am? Isn't it all 
right? 

George. Certainlv, certainly. You sent for me, Mr. Dennison ? 

Mr. D. Yes, I sent for you, and I want you to understand that if 
I drink whisky or brandy I pay for it with my own money. 

George. Yes, I supposed you did. But did you send for me to tell 
me that? 

Mr. D. Yes, I sent for you to tell you that, and also to tell you 
something more. You are a rascal. You took six hundred dollars 
from me a few weeks ago. You must pay it back to me. 

George Mr. Dennison, you are too fast. I asked you to take 
some stock in the Silver Valley Mining Company. You did so. It 
is too soon to expect any return. 

Mr. D. ( Going behind counter and taking another drink.) I want 
to know if you are going to keep away Irom Arabella and stop taking 
her money. 

George. If I choose to pay attention to Arabella Dennison it is no 
affair of yours. We are both old enough to attend to our own busi- 



146 THE CLOSING OF THE *' EAGLE." 

Mr. D. And, by thunder, I am old enough to attend to mine. 

Enter William Dennison, k. 
William. You are doiug some very loud talking here. What's 
broke, anyhow? I'd advise you both to pull down your vests and 

keep still. .. , , T mi v l 

Mr. D. He stole my money. He must pay it back or I will snoot 

him. _ . ., 

George. You are a liar. I invested your money for you in the 
mining company. If you were drunk at the time you gave it to me I 
couldn't help it. , 

Mr. D. (Deliberately taking out his revolver.) No man shall take 
my money and call me a liar too. (Raises his revolver.) You ve got 
to die. . . .. . , , 

George. ( Quickly pulling out revolver and raising it. ) Ah! that s 
your game, is it? 

William. ( Springing between them. ) Stop! stop! (Clayton fires 
and William falls. ) Oh ! I'm shot ! I'm shot ! I'm going to die. 

(Clayton turns to flee. 

Mr. D. You've killed my boy. 

(Fires at him as he goes out Runs after him and fires two 
more sliots outside. 

end op act m. 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — Same as Act II. t 
Miss Ababella Dennison discovered sealed with book in her hand. 

Arabella. Oh, I am so sad and downcast and sort of depopulated. 
It seems to me that I can do nothing but si^h and sigh and continue 
to sigh, and yet I can get no relief. My first love has been torn 
away" from me— he has flown and absquatulated and his going has 
been counected with strange and overpowering circumstances. Oh, 
it is so sad and hyperbolical for a youthful maiden to have her be- 
troughligated husband snatched away from her by running ott. 
What shall I do and how shall I ever recover my former brilliancy t 
In a f-w short days I would have been united in the pictorial bonds 
of wedlock to Mr. George Clayton, but now he is gone, and I am left 
a sad and weeping widow. Oh, 'tis a cruel blow and I tear it will 
overpower and uko upset me. Why did he fire that latal shot/ 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE. 147 

• < 

Ob, why? Now I may never have a beau again ; I may be compelled 
to sit here and pine my life away and no tonsorial young gentleman 
will come to claim my hand and heart. 1 feel like rising up and 
going out into this broad land and seeking a companion to be with 
me at all times and under all circumstances. Oh ! how I miss my 
noble George ! He had a magnificent shoulder and I felt so happy 
whilst reposing my weary head upon it. 

Miter Josiah Sprinkle, b, 

Josiah. Wall, Miss Arabella, if I was yeou I wouldn't take on so 
abeout that feller. He was a reg'lar outrageous and abominable ras- 
cal. I could read that in his countenance. 

Arabella. (Rising.) Josiah Sprinkle, you must not speak so 
about a gentleman who had asked me to be his centrifugal partner, 
and to whom I was betroughligated. 

Josiah. I don't keer nothin' abeout yeour betronghligations ; he's 
a villain of the blackest d^e. Didn't he lead William on and make 
a drunkard" of him? And didn't he shoot him? What dew yeou 
think ot yourself anyheow tew be monrniu' over a murderer? 

Arabella. You are an impudent and also a phlegmatic hired man. 
Don't I know that Mr. Clayton fired off his revolutionary pistol in 
self defence? 

Josialu It would be a powerful sight better if yeou'd stop thinkin' 
abeout that feller and spark me fur a spell. 

Arabella. Really and truly, Mr. Sprinkle, do you desire to be 
sparked by me? Oh! how my heart does co-operate and bounce 
around ! You are a noble looking gentleman. Come, let us sit upon 
the sofa and contemplate the coming futurity in all its brightness 
and indefinable periphery. 

Josiah. The p-what-ery ? By gosh, I don't understand that 
talk. 

Arabella. Come, let us sit upon the sofa. 

Josiah. Wall, I don't keer abeout settin' deown. I'd jest as lief 
stand up. 

Arabella. But, Mr. Josiah, we can hold courting conversation bet- 
ter and speak with more alacrity if we seat ourselves. 

Josiah. Wall, jest as yeou say abeout it. ( They seat themselves 
on the sofa. J I hain't sot alongside of a female gal fur a gooa spell. 
By the jumpin' jingoes, it's purty nice tew sit beside the gal yeou 
like. 

Arabella. And it is very pleasant for me to sit beside the man I 
love. I will rest my head upon your alabaster shoulder, Josiah. 

(Lays her head upon his shoulder. 

Josiah. (Aside. ) Je-ru-sa-lem ! what would Belinda say if slje 
could see this? (To Arabella.) What did yeou say abeout my 
shoulder? 

Arabella. I said I'd rest my head upon your alabaster shoulder, 



148 THE CLOSING OP THE "EAGLE." 

Joslah. "Wall, I want yeou tew understand that my shoulder isn't 
made eout of plaster. It's reg'lar flesh and blood. 

Arabella. Oh, dear Josiah ; I didn't say plaster ; I said ala- 
baster. 

Joslah. , What's that ag'in ? 

Arabella. That's a large word which the noveletter's use. Do you 
like, novelettes, Josiah? 

Josiah. Wall, yes, I guess I dew, when they are cooked right ; but 
there's not many as understands heow tew cook 'em. 

Arabella. (Aside.) He hasn't the same intellectual jollifications 
that Mr. Clayton had. However, he is a noble man. (To Josiah.) 
Do you delight to sit thus and hold converse with your beloved? 

Josiah. Wall, yes, I believe I dew, but yeou mustn't say nothin' 
abeout it. 

Arabella. Oh, of course not. Are you aware, Josiah, that I have a 
vast amount of money ? 

Josiah. Yes, I've hearn so. But if I married yeou it wouldn't be 
for yeour money. 

Arabella. No, Josiah, you are too noble for that. Your soul is 
above it. Come now, Josiah, dear, you might imprint a kiss upon 
my uusallivated lips. 

Josiah. Je-ru-sa-lem ! yeou don't say so ! 

Arabella. Yes, Josiah, there can be no harm in that. 

Josiah. Wall, I s'pose 1 might give you a buss jest tew keep in 
the hang of the thing. 

(Puts his arm around her and gives her a kiss. 

Enter Belinda. Bobbin, r. 

Belinda. Good land of Goshen! (Speaking very loud. ) Josiah 
Sprinkle, what air yeou abeout? Who air yeou kissin'? (Rashes 
up and seizes him by the coat collar.) Ain't yeou engaged tew me? 
(Whirls him around.) I'll show yeou a thing or two. (Shakes 
him. ) I hev a good mind tew shake .yeou intew little pieces. 

Josiah. Oh, let go ! I ain't doin' nothin'. 

Belinda. Ain't doiu' nothin' ? Is it doin' nothin' tew be kissin' 
that old woman ? (Releases him. 

Arabella. What's that? What kind of an utterance are you utter- 
ing? Did you say I was an old woman? 

Belinda. Yes, I said yeou was an old woman and I'll stick tew it. 
I s'pose yeou air abeout seventy. 

Arabella. Woman, 'tis false. . I am just bursting iuto the full 
bloom of youth. Woman, whoever you are, be careful how you 
speak. I can be aroused and you may feel the swoop of my trian- 
gular fist. 

Belinda. Pooh ! I ain't afeared of yeou. I want tew know what 
yeou was huggin' my Josiah fur? 

Arabella. He isn't your Josiah ; he is mine. 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 149 

* 

Belinda. Don't say that ag'in ; don't say that my Josiah belongs 
tew yeou or I'll knock yeou into the middle of next week. Josiah 
Sprinkle, didn't yeou ax me one eveuin' at the trout gate when yeou 
was a hangin' onto it, and didn't I say yes, and he vn't we been en- 
gaged ever siuce? 

Josiah. Yes, Belinda, we are engaged, and I am goin' fur till 
stand up fur yeou "till the last armed foe expires," as the poet 
6ez. 

Belinda. There, yeou old scarecrow, dew yeou hear that? 

Arabella. Josiah, didn't you say you would be my own beloved 
and centrifugal partner? Didn't you say we would sail together 
adown the equatorical stream of time? Oh, Josiah, would you turn 
away from me ? Would you see me plunged into the depths of sor- 
row and patronymics. 

Josiah. I don't care a banbee what yeou git turned intew ; I don't 
want tew hev nothin' tew dew with yeou. I was only jest a sparkin' 
yeou because yeou wanted tew be sparked and because I had nothin' 
else tew dew. Here's the gal I like tew buss. 

( Takes Belinda in his arms and Jcisses her. 

Arabella. (Furiously.) Hold! Stop that! Drop that woman! 
You belong to me and I'll have you, or I'll sue you for pantaloons of 
promise. 

Josiah. Go ahead, old gal. • 

Arabella. (Seizing hold of Belinda.) Come away ! Let that man 
alone; he belongs to me. Don't kiss his lips again. (Pulling her 
away. ) If you do, I'll hurl you with great volubility against the 
walls of this house. 

Belinda. (Clutching Arabella by the head.) Old woman, I've 
had enough of this. (Drags her around the room. 

Arabella. (Screaming.) Murder ! fire ! thieves! murder! Take 
her off ! 

Josiah. (S hording.) Whoop! Hurrah! A reg'lar woman fight. 
Go it, yeou darbies! 

Belinda. ( Still pulling Arabella by the head.) Come along, yeou 
old scarecrow. 

Arabella. (Screaming.) Enough! fire! murder! Take her off! 
Let go ! Oh ! oh ! o-oo-oh ! 

Josiah. I reckon I'd better stop this rumpus. (Takes hold of 
Belinda, and pulls her away.) Don't yeou know yeou might pull the 
old gal's head off? 

Arabella. Oli, I'll have revenge. Yes, Josiah, I will have revenge. 
I will proceed immediately to the office for the justification of peace 
and I will sue you by the law. 

Josiah. Wall, go ahead'. 

Arabella. ( To Belinda. ) And you, you strange woman, I will 
sue you for assault and flattery. See if I dont ! 

(Exit, in a passion, e. 



150 THE CLOSING OF THE " EAGLE.' 



Belinda. Oh, Josiah, heow could yeou so far forget me as tew kiss 
that old woman. 

Josiah,. Oli, that wasn't nothin'. I was jest corn-tin' her a little so 
I wouldn't forget heow tew court yeou. I'm glad yeou've come, fur 
I hev been wantin* tew see yeou. I Lev been gittin' up in the world, 
Belinda, and I kalkilate we can git married purty soon. But I see 
the squar' comin'. Give me a buss. ( He kisses her. ) Neow, run 
eout there, fur I hev somethin' tew say tew the squar*. 

(Exit Belinda, r. 
Eater Mb. Dennison, l. 

Mr. D. Josiah, sit down ; I have something to say to yon, or 
rather, I want to ask your advice. ( They seat iliemseives. ) Since 
you have been in my employ you have been a faithful assistant and I 
will tell you my plans. I have serious thoughts of selling out and 
leaving this place. Since the death of William I have felt ill at ease 
— I have begun to see that I am engaged in a nefarious business, 
and I have about determined that I will sell the house with the in- 
junction on the purchaser that it shall never again be used as a place 
to hurry men on to destruction. What do you think about the 
matter? „ 

Josiah. Wall, I'll tell yeou, squar'. Since yeou've been here 
yeou've been goin' deown hill and^ieow could yeou expect tew go 
up hill and rise in the world and git along right when yeou was 
Bellin' distilled damnation? I tell yeou it isn't right; it is awful, 
and I'm glad yeou hev come tew see the error of yeonr way. I 
hevn't been savin' nothin' because it wasn't my place tew speak, but 
I hev been feeliu' mighty bad. 

Mr. D. And I find that I am likely to become a drunkard too, 
if I continue in the business any longer. The love of intoxicating 
drinks is growing upon me and 1 know it will require a powerful 
effort to break the bonds which are tightening around me. 

Josiah. Yes, I know jest heow it is. Neow there was uncle Jona- 
than Wheeler, he tuck tew drink and arter awhile he begin tew see 
that he was drinkin' too much and he tried tew stop, but it warn't 
no kind of use. The demon had got a hold onto him and he wouldn't 
let him go noheow. He wept, and he prayed and he signed the 
pledge and he fought manfully tew git clear and be a teetotaler, but 
it warn't no kind of use. He went deown tew a drunkard's grave. 
I'm a feller as likes to hev a heap of fun, and I skeerceiy ever git sad 
and solenmcholy except when I think abeout the awfulness of sellin' 
whisky and drinkin' whisky. Oh, it's terrible. 

Mr. D. Yes, it is terrible, and I am resolved that from this day 
forth I will neither drink nor sell. I will turn over a new leaf and 
endeavor to write a better record in the future than I have written 
in the past ; I will endeavor to do my dutj' as an honest and up- 
right citizen and I will never more act the part of an agent for 



THE CLOSING OF THE "EAGLE." 151 



the devil by breaking up families and hurrying men on to destruc- 
tion. 

Josiah. I'm rale deown glad tew hear yeou say so. ( To audi- 
ence. ) And neow, as fur as I kiu see, everything is slick and 
beautiful. Belinda Bobbin has arrived aud we'll be a gittin' mar- 
ried party soon ; Arabella hasn't succeeded in procuriu' a husband, 
and therefore her money is still in the family ; but, best of all, the 
squar' has seen the error of his way and has decided tew close the 
"Eagle." You may therefore consider this the closing op the 

"EAGLE." 



CUBTAIN, 



DON'T MARRY A DRUNKARD 
TO REFORM HIM. 



IN FIVE ACTS. 



(IBS) 



DON'T MAEEY A DEUNKAED TO 
EEFOEM HIM. 



CHARACTERS. 

Robert Pierce. 

Edwin Lake* 

Pauune Knox. 

Emily Bell, Afterwards Mrs. Lake. 

Dora Lake. 

Frank Lake. 

Barkeeper. 

Tom, ] 

Sam*' I B ar ~ room loafers. 
John, J 



COSTUMES. 
Modern, except where described otherwise in the play. 



PROPERTIES. 

Act I.— Tables. Sofa. Chairs, &c. 

Act IL— Bar. Bottles. Glasses. Pitchers. Shelves. Tables. 
Cbairs. Checkers and board. Pipes for Sam and John. 

Act III — Straw pallet. Broken table and chairs. Lighted can- 
dle. Needlework. Stool. 

Act IV.— Same as Act III., and jug and tin cup. 

Act V.— /Scene J. Bed. Tables. Chairs. Flowers, &c. Scene II. 
Two chairs. 



Ten years is supposed to elapse between Acts I. and II. 

(154) 



BOWT MAEEY A DEUNEAED TO 
EEFOEM HIM. 



ACT I. 

Scene.— A Boom Neatly Furnished. Doors b. and l. 
Pauline and Emily discovered seated. 

Pauline. I have given the matter a great deal of thought and I 
have decided that if Robert does not stop drinking I will not marry 
him. 

Emily. Oh, Pauline, what an absurd conclusion to come to ! It 
doesn't hurt any man to take a drink occasionally, and Robert isn't 
one who will drink to excess. It is only those who have no minds 
of their own— no firmness— who get drunk. Robert Pierce is not a 
man of that kind, neither is Edwin Lake. I should not fear to trust 
either of them. 

Pauline. I do not think it wise nor prudent to marry a drunkard 
for the purpose of reforming him. It is running too great a risk. I 
know a great many women attempt it, but very few succeed, I have 
no doubt there are a thousaad failures to one success. If Robert gets 
drunk once a month now whilst in his courting days, he will get 
drunk three or four times a month after the courtship is over. 

Emily. But Robert does not get drunk, neither does Edwin. 

-- (W5) 



156 don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 

The)' simply take a drink if they want it and let it alone if tbey don't 
Want it. 

Pauline. It has become a gi - eat deal easier for them both to take it 
than to let it alone, and 1 understand that they were both foolishly 
drunk hist Thursday. 

Emily. Pooh ! you shouldn't give heed to idle reports. There are 
always persons ready to carry you bad reports about your lover. I 
would not listen to tliem. Now I had heard that Edwin was drunk 
on the day of the celebration. I asked him about it and he said it 
was false. He said he met two or three friends that day and took two 
or three drinks, but that was all. 

Pauline. But he was intoxicated that day, and so was Robert. 
I have it from reliable authority. 

Emily. Edwin has always been a man of truth and honor and I 
do not care to have his word disputed. If Robert was drunk, it 
doesn't necessarily follow that Edwin was drunk also. 

Pauline. Have it as you will, and act as you choose, but I have 
decided that I will break my engagement with Eobert. I will tell 
him why and let him go. 

Emily. You do not love him truly then. To be plain about the 
matter, I do not think you are capable of loving deeply and truly. 

Paulbie. There is. a difference of opinion on that point. I think 
I can love deeply and truly, you think I can't. When I promised to 
marry Robert it was on condition that he would entirely and forever 
stop drinking intoxicating liquors. Hd has not done so, therefore, 
in reality, there is no engagement betw een us. But I loved him and 
hesitated about giving him up. I believed that I should bear with 
hnn for a time — I believed that I should not be too harsh — and so it 
has gone on for two years— I entreating him to reform and he making 
new promises and resolutions. I love him truly, deeply, devotedly, 
but I do not choose to risk my life and my happiness in the delusive 
hope of rescuing and restoring him. There are too many instances 
of failure in this missionary field for me to enter upon it. 

Emily. Well, you can do as you choose, but for my part I know I 
shall not cast Edwin off merely because he takes a drink occasionally. 
Even if he should get intoxicated occasionally I wiil not break the 
engagement. When we are married I will have a great influence over 
him and if I request him to stop drinking I know he will do so. I 
can excuse Edwin for drinking and being somewhat wild now, but 
when he is married and has a home of his own it will b« different. I 
will be in that home, and I know he will always seek my society 
rather than the society of convivial companions. 

Pauline. You certainly have more confidence in your eloquence 
and persuasive powers than I have in mine. Nothing but an iron 
will and a firmness that few women possess can check the career of a 
man who has once taken hold of strong drink. 

Emily. There is Robert now. Take my advice and do not cast 
him off. I will retire. (Exit r. 



don't mabby a dbunkabd to befokm him. 157 

Enter Robert, l. 

Robert. Ah, Pauline, my darling, I find you alone. How have 
you been since I last saw yon ? 

Pauline. Very well, bat somewhat troubled. 

Robert. (Seating himself beside htr.J Aud may I ask what has 
troubled you? 

Pauline. Your conduct. Robert. I promised to many you on 
condition that* you would never touch intoxicating liquors. You 
know you have been intoxicated on several occasions, aud I have 
made up my mind that the engagement shall be broken and that we 
shall separate. 

Robert. Oh, Pauline, don't say that ; you cannot mean it. Some 
evil minded person has been circulating reports of an injurious char- 
acter. You should give no attention to them. 

Pauline. I have heard nothing but the truth, Robert. I know you 
were intoxicated last Thursday. You will not deny it. 

Robert. I acknowledge that I took a few drinks, but I was not in- 
toxicated. Pauline, do not cast me off — do not turn away from me, 
or I shall surely go to destruction. Marry me and when you are 
with me all the time I shall cease to drink. Your influence will re- 
strain me. 

Pauline. Robert, I will marry no man with the intention of re- 
forming him. That has been done hundreds and hundreds of times 
aud iu nearly every case has proved a failure. If you become intox- 
icated once a month while in your courting days, will you cease 
altogether after you are married ? I should say not. You will drink 
a great deal more after marriage. It is useless to talk any further 
upon this subject ; I have made up my mind and the engagement, if 
engagement it can be called, is broken. 

Robert. Then anything I could say would not change your mind. 

Panli)ie. No, you can say nothing to change my mind. You 
promised to stop drinking and have failed to do so. Henceforth we 
can be nothing but friends. 

Robert. (Rising. ) And if I become a drunkard who will be to 
blame? 

Pauline. You, Robert, and you alone. Do you desire to lay the 
blame upon me ? 

Robert. I have nothing more to say. Farewell. 

Pauline. Adieu, and may you be wise in time. (Ex.it Robebt, d. 

END OF ACT I. 



Ten years are supposed to elapse between Acts 1. and II. 



158 don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 



ACT II. 

Scene. — A Bar-room. Barkeeper behind counter. Bottles alasses, 
dbc, on shelves behind. 

Robert Pierce and Edwin Lake discovered seated conversing. Tom 
and Dick playing- checkers. Sam and John smoking. Edwin with 
clothing torn. Robert in seedy dress. 

Edwin. (Slightly intoxicated. ) And so you have come to this town 
to try your luck ? Well, you've come to a poor place ? I've been 
here far eight years and I hain't been able to make nothin' ; I have 
to spend my money faster'n I make it — hie. I'd be very glad to 
have =you here, old feller, but I'd advise you to pull up stakes and 
leave. I'd leave too, but, hang it, I don't know where to go, and, I 
s'pose I couldn't get work any place — hie. There ain't no work 
doin' here. Everything is dull and it 'pears that everybody has quit 
work. But, Bob, fur old acquaintance sake, come and have a drink. 

(Rises. 

Robert. Oh, yes, I'll take a drink. Of course I feel honored in 
bein' asked to drink with an old friend. (Rises. 

Edwin. And the rest of you fellers, come and have a drink— hie. 
(Advancing to the bar. Tom, Dick, Sam and John rise. 

Tom. Ed. Lake, I tell you, you're a brick. 

Dick. Yes, there ain't no sham about you. 

Sam. 'T isn't every man that would be so clever. 

John. Ed. Lake never was no slouch. 

Barkeeper. (Setting down glasses.) What will you have, gentle- 
men ? 

Edwin. Every feller take,what_he likes best ; that's the way 
to do. 

J&bert. I'll take braudy. 

Tom. Soil T. There ain't nothin' like brandy. 

Dick. You fellers can do as you like, but I guess I'll take whisky. 

(Barkeeper sets down bottles. 

Edwin. That's «like me ; I always go in fur whisky. 

S'trn. So do I. Whisky's the staff of life. 

John. I like whisky too. (They Jill their glasses as they talk. 

Edwin. (To Robert, who is filling his glass.) Oh r fill up your 
tumbler ; you ain't afraid, I reckon. 

Robert. No, in course not. (Raising his glass.} Here's luck to 
you, Ed. Lake, and the same to the rest of you. 

Edwin. May your shadder never git smaller. (Diinks. 

Tom. Here's hopin' that we may ailers be surrounded by sich 
fellers as Ed. Lake. (Drinks. 



don't mabex a dbtjnkabd to befobm him. 159 

Dick. I say the same. (Drinks. 

Sam. Hurrah fur Ed. Lake. (Drinks, 

John. Ed. Lake's a feller you needn't be ashamed to 'sociate 
with. 

Edwin. Gentlemen, I— hie— s'pose somebody ought to make a 
speech. Who'll make a speech? 
Tom. I r Ed. Lake. 

Dick. I rr, nnotl D J You're the boy. 
Sam. [ 10 9 etnei - 1 You make the speech. 
John. J [Go ahead, old feller. 

, Robert. Yes, Ed., let's have a speech. 

Edwin. ( Trying to steady himself. ) Well, here goes. This is a 
'portant 'casion — hie — so it is — this is a 'portaut 'casion. We have a 
good time to-night — us fellers have— hie — yes, we have. I'm glad 
J come. Wife didn't want me to come, but she never wants me to 
£0 any place — hie. My wife's a peculiar woman. Bob Pierce, you're 
'quaiuted with my wife. You miud— hie— I was courtiu' her when 
you was courtiu' Pauline Kuox, She wouldn't have you 'cause you 
was a drinkiu' feller — she didu't want to marry you fur to reform you 
— hie. c Laughs. ) He ! he ! My wife she wasn't so p'tie'lar on 
that point and she took me. My wife's had a tol'ble hard time aud 
so has the chil'ren, but that's because I haven't been gittiu' much . 
work to do. I s'pose I ought to go home and see how they're gittiu' 
along. ( Staggers. ) I s'pose my wife's wantin' some coal to make a 
fire— hie. (Laughs.) He! he! Wha' zer use of coal now? I'm 
pur'y com'able. (Looks at a chair.) 'Pears ter me tha' chair's 
niovin'. I guess I'll sit down on it. 

( Tries to sit down on the chair and falls upon Hie floor, Tom, 
Dick, Sam and John laugh. 
Tom. Old feller, I guess you've got too much. 
Dick. Ed. Lake, you're drunk. 

Edwin. (Seated on the floor.) No, I guess not. I s'pose I'd berrer 
finish that 'or speech. 

Sam. Better stand up if yer goin' to speak. 

Edwin. (S holding. ) Hurrah fur the star spungled bunner ! 

Robert. (Intoxicated.) I'll sing yer song. (Sings t 

Wait fur erwagon, 
Wait fur erwagon, 
Wait fur erwagon, 
An' we'lal take erride. 

Barkeeper. We can't have so much noise here. 
Edwin. (Still sitting on the floor.) I wan'er know how you goin' 
ter help it. 
Robert. Tha's wha' I wan'er know. (Sings, 

Wait fur erwagon, 
Wait fur erwagon, 



160 DON'T MAEBY A DEUNKABD to befoem him. 

"Wait fnr erwagon, 
An' we'lal take erride. 

B'irheeper. Gentlemen, we must Lave order. 

Edwin. (Rising.) Yon want order an' I wan' 'nother drink. 
(Staggers up to the bar. J I've got plen'y er money. Bob, come np 
an' git 'nother drink, but them other fellers needn't come. They said 
I was drunk. What'd I care fur them ? They ain't nothiu' but — hie 
— bar-room loafers— loafers which 'er loafin' in a bar-room. They 
jis' sit 'round to git asked to drink. 

Tom. That's a lie, Ed. Lake. 

Edwin. Wha'd I care fur Tom? I've got plen'y money — hie. 

Dick. Yes, you've got money fur whisky while your wife and 
children are starvin' at home. 

Sum. Yes, that's so. 

John. Is it a fact that his wife and children are starvin'? 

Dick. Yes, it's a fact. 

Robert. Ed., will you let a lot of drunken loafers talk that 'er way 
about you? 

Edwin. (Getting angry.) No, I won't. (Turns away from the 
bar and pulls <ff his coat.) No, I won't. I'll smash them. (To 
Tom, Dick, Sam and John.) I can lick 'er whole set 'f you. Jes' 
come on. You'll tell me — hie — I'm drunk, will you? Well, I can 
settle 'er business. Come on, you dirty dogs. 

Barkeeper. We can't have any fighting here. 

Tom. (Rushing up to Edwin.) I am' fc af eared of you. Jist take 
that. (Strikes him. 

Edwin. Hit me, will yer? Take that. (Strikes Tom. 

Robert. Let him alone. ( Seizes hold of Tom.) Don't you know 
nothiu' ? 

Dick. Let Tom alone. (Strikes Robert.) I'm goin' to see fair 
play. 

Barkeeper. We don't want any fightin' here. 

Si mi. Hi ! it's goin' to be a general fuss. I'm in. 

John. And so am I. 

( They rush in and take hold of Robert. Noise and confusion. 

Edwin. (Seizing a tumbler and stepping back.) Now I'll make 
some of yer howl. ( Throws glass. 

Sam. That's your way of fightin' is it? 

John. We'll fix you. 

( They seize hold of Edwin. He shouts and strikes. General 
coi'fasion. 



end or act n, 



don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 161 



ACT III. 

Scene.— A Room denoting wretchedness and want 

Mrs. Lake, formerly Emily Bell, discovered seated by a candle sew- 
ing. Two children, Dora, aged eight, and Frank, aged six, lying on 
a miserable pallet on the floor. 

Dora. ( Waking and speaking from the bed. ) Mother, I am so 
cold. The fire is almost out and I cau't sleep. Hasu't papa brought 
us anything to eat yet ? 

Mrs. L. No, my child, but I think he will be here soon. 

Dora. Oh, I am so hungry ! 

Mrs. L. Is Frank asleep ? 

Frank. No, I aiu't asleep. I can't sleep any more ; I am so cold. 
Oh, I wish we had a great big fire. Didn't papa go to get some 
co;d? 

Mrs, L. Yes. 

Frank. He is so long coming. I wonder if he doesn't know we 
are cold. Maybe he'll come home awful again. Oh, how it scares 
me when he conies home awful. 

Mrs. L. (Rising and laying down her sewing.) I have a little 
piece of bread. I will get it for you. 

( Goes to shelf and takes down the bread. 

Frank. "Will we get up to eat it? 

Mrs. L. No, it is warmer in bed. (Owes the bread to them. 

Frank. This is such a thin quilt ; it will not keep out half of the 
cold. 

Mrs. L. (Taking a thin shawl from off her shoulders.) I will 
. epread this on you. 

(Spreads shawl on and goes back to her seat. 

Dora. The shawls seems to make it colder. 

Frank. Oh, I wish we had a nice house and plenty to eat and a 
big warm fire. 

Mrs. L. This is terrible. How can I sit here and listen to my 
children calling for food? (Rises.) I must do something ; I will 
go out and I will beg. The children must not perish. 

Dora. Mother, are you going out? 

Mrs. L. Yes, bjit I 'will return in a short time. 

(Noise outside. 

Frank. I hear something. I guess it's papa coming. (Heavy 
step heard. ) Yes, and he's awful too. Dora, 1 guess we'd better get 
Up. 

Mrs. L. Lie still, my children. Your papa is coming and he may 
have something for you to eat. 



162 don't jiabey a dbunkaed to befoem him, 

Frank. No, he has nothing for us to eat. He never has anything 
for us to eat when he sonies home awful. 

Enter Edwin, b., very much hdoxicated, with hat crushed and coat torn. 

Edwin. (Staggerhig.) Wha' yer sittin' up s'late fur? I want 
surnmin' ter eat. Hain't you got nothin' feat? 

Mrs. L. No, Edwin, we haveu't a bite of auything in the house. 

Edwin. Git up an' git er supper, I tell yer. Hain't had nothin' 
ter eat fur nicie'n two weeks. Git at an' git er supper. Don't stan' 
there like as if you didn't know nothin' 'tall. Git at an' git er sup- 
per, I tell yer, or I'll knock yer down. 

Mrs. L. ( Commencing to weep. ) Oh, Edwin, how can I get sup- 
per when there is nothing to get ? I gave the last piece of bread to 
the children a few minutes ago. 

Edwin. (Angrily.) Thaz a big lie, I tell yer. Git summin quick 
or I'll kick yer right out of the house. D'yer hear? This is my 
house an' I mas' have summin to eat. 

Dora. Oh, papa, do not talk so. You frighten me and you mnke 
mother cry. There is no bread in the house. Frank and I ate the 
last of it a few minutes ago. 

Frank. Papa, why didn't you bring home some coal to make a 
fire ? We are so cold, I'm afraid I'll freeze so bad I'll die. 

Edwin. (Staggering to the bed.) Shut up, I tell yer; don't say 
nothin' to me 'bout coal or I'll knock both your heads off. 

Frank. (Crying.) Oh, mother, I'm afraid ; he's so awful. 

Mrs. L. Edwin, come aud sit down.; do not frighten the chil- 
dren. 

Edwin. (Turning and staggering up to Mbs. Lake.) Shut yer 
mouth, I tell yer. (liaises his hand as if about to strike her. 

Dora a) id Frank. (Springing out of bed.) Oh, papa, don't kill 
her ; please don't, papa. 

Edwin. Git out 'f my house, every one 'f you. This is my house. 
Git out now, I tell yer. 

Mrs. L. ( To the children. ) Come, Dora, Frank, we must go. 

Dora. ( Crying. ) Oh, where shall we go ? 

Frank. (Crying.) Oh, papa, I don't want to go out into the 
cold. 

Edwin. (Furiously.) Take the brats and git out quick. Git out 
now, or 111 kill every one of you. 

Fnutk. Oh, papa. 

Mrs. L. Here Dora, Frank, be quick. 

(Seizes the children and hurries them out. 

Edwin. I'd kill somebody jes' soon's not. I ain't to be trifled 
with fur I've got some pluck an' I can fight. Them loafers thought 
they'd knock me roun', but I guess they didn't. I made the tum- 
blers rattle on - their heads. Oh, I'm a fightin' man when I git 
'roused. But I ought 'er have summin to eat. I'll look aroun' a 



don't mabby a dbunkabd to eefobm him. 163 

little an' hunt up some bread an' a piece of beef. I ain't goin' to 
have no wife an' chil'ren nroun' me if they won't get 'er supper when 
I tell them to. I'd jes' lief kill them as not. (Falls on the floor. J I 
guess I'll sit down fur a spell. 

END OF ACT m. 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — Same as Act III. 

Edwin and Bobebt discovered seated, one on a stool, the other on a 
broken chair. Both intoxicated. Jug and tin cup on cliair between 
them. Candle burning dimly on the table. 

Robert. This is jolly. Oh, this is splen'id. Wha's the use in 
drinkin' at the tave'n among a lot 'f loafers when we can have our 
own whisky here an' have a big time jes' among 'urselves? 

Edwin. I thiuk's capital. Far better'n t'have Uie old woman an' 
chil'ren here too. I made them fly las't night. (Laughs.) Ha! 
lia ! I made them fly. 

Robert. Made 'em fly? Did yer git wings fur 'em? Ha! ha! 
Where'd they fly to ? 

Elwin. (Laughs.) Yes, I see er point. Mighty good point. 
(Laughs. ) Ha ! ha ! But I tate't back. Didu't fly — no, didn't jes' 
fly, but they jes' run. Take anurrer drink, Bob. 

Robert. Yes, I guess I will. (Pours liquor into tin cup and drinks. 
Smacks his lips. ) Urn ! ah ! that's mighty good whisky. 

Edwin. Correc'. I don't buy any other kind. Now, I'll take a 
pull't this same old jug. 

(Places the jug to his mouth and drinks. 

Robert. (While Edwin is drinking.) Stop, Ed., you'll drink 
'tall. 

Edwin. (Taking down the jug. ) Wha' 'f I do ? Didn't I buy it? 
Guess you'd bet'r mind yer own business. 

Robert. Didn't I give half er money? 

Elwin. No, yer didn't ; wha' yer talkin' about? (Both rise. 

Robert. I tell jer I did, an' I can give yer a thrashiu'. 

(Advancing as if to strike him. 

Edwin. ( Stepping back. ) There, do you see it ? Oh, it's comin'. 
Don't let it strike me. 

Robert, What's comin' ? What yer talkin' about ? 



164 don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 



Edwin. It's a snake ; it's an awful big snake. Bob, save me. It's 
goin' to strike. It's a big green snake. Kill it, Bob, kill it. 

(Makes an effort to get away bat. seems unable to move. 

Robert. (Aside.) He's g<>t the tremens. Oh ! that's awful. (To 
Edwin.) There ain't no snake. 1 can see all around here and I 
ought to know. 

Edwin. (Looking in another direction.) Here, it's over here now. 
It's growin' bigger ; it's goin' to eat me. Save me, save me ! Help ! 
help ! The snakes are all around me ; they're coiniu' at me. Keep 
them back ! Ugh ! They're coiling around my legs ; they're climb- 
ing up my back. Oh ! help, help help ! 

Robert. I tell you there ain't no snakes. Hain't I got eyes and 
can't I see ? There isn't a snake in the room. 

Edwin. (Falling on the floor.) And there's my wife and children, 
and they look like snakes too. Oh ! horror, they're coiniu' at me. 
They're crawlin' over me ; they're killin' me. Oh, somebody help 
me ! Won't somebody tear them away? Help, help, help! 

Robert. (Aside.) He's got the tremens mighty bad and I don't 
know what to do. 

Edwin. Oh ! what's this ? I'm in a lake of fire. I'm burnin' up. 
(Struggles as if choking.) I'm chokin'. Help S Pull me out or I'll 
go down. Take me out ! The fire's runnin' down my throat. Help ! 
Bring me a plank. Quick ! quick ! or I'll sink ! I'm drownin'. 
(Struggles.) I'm drownin'! The fire's runnin' down my throat. 
And there's the snakes coining again. They're strikin' at me ; they're 
crawlin' all over me. Help, help ! oh ! help ! 

(Sinks down exhausted and closes his eyes. 

v Robert. This is a bad affair. I don't know what to do fur him. 

Maybe a drink of whisky would drive the fancies away. I'll try it 

anyhow. (Pours whisky into a tin cup and takes it to Edwin.) Here 

is some whisky ; I think it will help you. 

Edwin. ( Opening his eyes. ) Oh ! I thought I was dead ; I thought 
my wife and children had killed me. I thought they had turned me 
out of doors and let ten thousand snakes loose upon me. And then 
I died. Let me alone ; I am goin' to die now, and then it will all be 
over. ( Closes Ids eyes and sinks down. 

Robert. No, you mustn't die. Take some of this whisky and you'll 
be all right. It allers helps me when 1 don't feel right. Come, raise 
your head and take a drink. (Endeavors to lift his head. 

Edwin. (Springing up and dashing the cup out of Robert's hand. ) 
The room's on fire! (Runs around the room.) Let me out ! Let 
me out ! Water ! Help ! help ! Oh ! there's a demon in the midst 
of the fire and he's dashin' down upon me. He'll tear me up. Fire ! 
Water ! Help ! Oh, why didn't you let me die in peace ? I was 
nearly gone. Why did you arouse me to fresh torture ? Oh ! let me 
sink down and die ; then it will all be over. (Rushing to the other 
side of the room.) They're comin' again— they'll tear me up. And 



don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 165 

the flames are rollin' over me. Oh ! shoot me ! Kill me — kill me at 
once aud eud my misery. (Starting back and looking dawn/) Oh ! 
oh ! I'm on the verge of perdition. The bottomless pit has opened 
to swallow me. (Strives to get away. ) Oh, don't push me in ! Oh ! 
don't push me in ! Oh ! oh ! help ! I'm faliin' in ! Oh ! help ! 
help ! I'm gone ! (Falls on the floor. 

END OF ACT IV. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. — A Well Furnished Apartment in Miss Pauline Knox's 
House. 

Frank Lake discovered lying on bed near centre of stage. At back of 
bed stand Pauline Knox, Mrs. Emily Lake and Dora 

Frank. I can't live very long, can I ? Didn't the doctor say it 
would soon all be over? 

Mrs. L. (Weeping.) Yes, my darling. 

Pauline. You may live until to-morrow. 

Frank. I would like to see papa before I go. I would like to ask 
him to try and do better and not come home awful any more. I 
would like to tell him that he frightened me so he made me sick and 
now I am going to die. 

Pauline. Your papa has been awful for several days and could not 
come here. It would be of no use to ask him, for he would not un- 
derstand. 

Frank. Oh, is he awful yet, and is he going round making people 
go out of their houses? Oh, he might die when he is that way and 
wouldn't that be sad? He couldn't go up there to where Jusus is, 
if he was awful. I wish I could tell him to be good and not frighten 
mother any more, and then I could see him again away up in that 
happy place. 

Dora. ( Weeping.) Frank, I will tell him to be good. 
Frank. Yes, tell him to be good, but don't go near him when he 
is awful, for you know he said he would kill all of us. Oh, I was so 
much trightened. But when he isn't awful he is good and kind to 
us, and I would like to see him again. But I don't want to see him 
if he is the way he was when he came home and made us go out of 
the house into the cold, cold street. Oh ! I shiver when I think 
about it. But I won't have to go out into the cold streets any more. 
I am going up to that home where Jesus lives and where everybody 



166 don't marry a drunkard to reform him, 

is nappy and there ain't no cold rooms. We won't suffer any more 
because we have no coal and nothing to eat. And mother says there 
will be singing there too, and the angels will have harps in their 
hands. I would like to sing some before I go. (Sings "Beautiful 
River" in a subdued voice.) — 

"Shall we gather at the river 

Where bright angel feet have trod ; 
With its* crystal tide forever 
Flowing " 

(Breaks down.) I am too weak to sing. Mother and Dora and 
Miss Pauline, will you sing that song for me ! I would like to hear 
it once more. You know we used to sing it in the beautiful Summer 
evenings. Maybe we'll sing it when we are all together again up 
there. 
Dora. Yes, Frank, we will sing it for you. 

(Dora commences to sing, is joined by Miss Pauline, but Mrs. 
Lake is too much broken down with grief to assist, b he sits 
with her face buried in her hands while the others sing. 

" Shall we gather at the river 

Where bright angel feet have trod ; 
With its crystal tide forever 
Flowing by the throne of God ? 

Chorus. Yes, we'll gather at the river, 

The beautiful, the beautiful river- 
Gather with the saints at the river, 
That flows by the throne of God. 

Soon we'll reach the silver river, 

Soon our pilgrimage will cease ; 
Soon our happy hearts will quiver 

With the melody of peace. 

Chorus. — Yes, we'll gather, &c. 

Frank. I wish papa could come up to that home. Oh, I wish I 
could see him before I go and ask him to be kind to mother, and then 
to come up to that beautiful home when he dies. But, oh ! if he 
should be awful and make mother and Dora go out of the house., and 
if he should kill them he could never come up there and I could 
never see him again. Hush ! I hear music. The angels are singing 
over there at the beautiful river. 

( Ceases speaking and raises his hands, 

Pauline. His mind is wandering. 

Mrs. L. Frank, do you know me ? 



don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 167 

Dora. (Throwing herself down beside him.) Oh, Frank, speak to 
me once more ! 

Frank. Hush ! don't you hear it ? Oh ! how sweet it is. (Sings 
softly.)— 

" The beautiful, the beautiful river." 

Tell papa I'm gone. I wanted to see him again, but I must go now ; 
they are waiting for me. (Sings softly.) — 

" The beautiful, the beautiful river." 

(His voice dies away. 
Pauline. He is gone. Gone from a world of trouble to a home of 
happiness and peace. 

( Slow music. Mrs. Lake and Dora bow their heads upon the 
bed and weep as the scene closes. 



Scene n. — An Apartment in Miss Pauline Knox's House, Chair 
b. and l. 

Miter Pauline and Mrs. Emdly Lake, r. Mrs. Lake neatly dressed. 

Pauline. Do not be so sad and sorrowful because little Frankie is 
gone. It is well with him now ; he will have no more trials and 
troubles. His Savior thought it best to take him home and He doeth 
all things well. 

Mrs. L. I know I should not murmur or repine, but my heart 
was bound up in him. He was my precious darliug and his going 
was so sudden and so sad. ( Weeping softly.) Think of his being 
driven out by his father into the cold streets. Oh, what would have 
come of us all if you had not found us and taken us into your com- 
fortable home ? How can I ever repay you ? 

Pauline. Emily, don't let that trouble you. I have plenty for 
both myself and you, and you shall not want for anything. I have 
learned that there is more satisfaction in doing good than in pos- 
sessing great wealth. 

Mrs. L. There are few people now who are so kind and unselfish, 
and oh, Pauline, I thank you for your kindness more than I can ex- 
press. 

Pauline. You have had a great deal of trouble during the past few 
years of your life. We will hope that in the future your path will be 
more cheerful and pleasant. 

Mrs. L. You advised me against the folly of marrying a drunkard 
with the intention of reforming him. You refused to marry Robert 
Pierce because he was a moderate drinker. You said the risk was 
too great to marry him in the expectation that he could be reformed, 



168 don't marry a drunkard to reform him. 

and time has shown that you were right. To-day Robert and Edwin 
are drunken, degraded beings and I am driven from my home. It 
would have been well for me if I had done as you did. I would not 
have suffered so much and I would not now be thrown upon your 
charity. 

Pauline. Do not let that matter trouble yon. As I said before, I 
have enough for us both, and I find more pleasure in giving than in 
hoarding up my money. 

Mrs. E. You are very kind, and I do not know how I shall ever 
repay you. (Knock at door b. 

Pauline. Ah ! a visitor. I wonder who it can be. ( Opens door.) 
It is Edwin. 

Edwin. (At door.) Is Emily here? 

Pauline. She is. Come in. 

Enter Edwin, r. 

Edwin. Emity, I am almost ashamed to come into your presence. 
I have been a brute. I drove you and the children from the house. 
But I have suffered fearfully since that time; I have been severely 
punished. I prayed for death, but it came not. It is all past now 
and I have decided and determined that so long as I live I will never, 
never again taste a drop of intoxicating liquor. 

( Sinks into a chair. Exit Paulina, l. 

Emily. (Coming and kneeling before him.) Oh, Edwin, I am re- 
joiced to hear you say so. May God bless you and enable you to re- 
main firm in your resolution. 

Enter Dora, neatly dressed, r. 

Dora. (Going to her father's side.) Oh! papa, I am so glad! 
But I wish you had come before Frank went away. 

Elwin. Before Frank went away ! Where is he gone? 

Mrs. L. Oh, Edwin, did you not know? He is dead. 

Edwin. (Springing up.) Dead! Oh, no, it cannot be! Oh, 
how can I endure this? ( Walking distractedly araund the room with 
his hands on his face. ) My little Frank goue and I drove him out. 
Oh, agony ! Oh, how can J endure it? (Speaking vehemently to Mrs. 
Lake.) Why didn't you tell me? 

Mrs. L. It would have been of no use to tell you. You were suf- 
fering in delirium at the time. 

Edwin. Oh, the cursed whisky! the cursed poison ! Why have I 
been such a fool? Oh! if I could live the past horrible weeks over 
again ! Oh ! if I could only have my little Frank brought back. 
How can I live under this great load of woe? 

(Sinks into a chair and covers his face with, his hands. 

Dora. (Going to him.) Papa, look up and I will tell you about 
Frank. He talked about you when he was dying. He wanted to see 
you ; he wanted them to tell you to come, but they said you couldn't 
come. He said he wanted to tell you that you frightened him and 



DON'T MARRY A DRUNKARD TO REFORM HIM. 1G9 

drove him ont into the cold, cold streets aud that he was going to 
die. (Edwin groans.) He wanted to see yon once more for he said 
if you always acted bad and made us run out of the house, he could 
not see yon any more, for yon wouldn't be allowed to go up to that 
good place where Jesus lives. (Edwin groans.) He wanted to ask 
you to be good and kind to mother and not frighten her any more ; 
he wanted you to be good so that he could see you again. He did 
not want to die without seeing you. 

Edwin. (Rising and wulking about. ) Oh! the agony of the deli- 
rium was fearful, but this is ten thousand times harder to bear. 
(Sinks into a chair again.) Oh, why should 1 care to live now? 

Mrs. L. (Coming to him and kneeling before him. ) Edwin, do not 
let this great grief overwhelm you. It doubtless is a punishment for 
your past misdeeds, but do not be so entirely overcome. It is well 
with Eraukie now. He is now in a home of peace and rest aud love. 
As he passed away he said he could hear the angels singing. He 
said, "Tell papa I wanted to see him, but I must go now; they are 
waiting for me." 

Edwin. ( Groans. ) Oh ! 

Mrs. L. Then we who are left, what more can we do than strive 
to live so that we may see him again? You have taken one impor- 
tant step in the right way ; you have resolved that you will never 
drink another drop of intoxicating liquor, and if you look to Jesus 
for help you can remain firm. We cm yet be a happy family, and 
when life and life's duties are past we can see our beloved child on 
the other shore. 

Kixoin. (Rising and facing audience. ) May God help us all, and 
may he hasten the time when the land shall no more be cuased with 
the great curse of intemperance. 

(Mits. Lake at d., and Dora at r. 0/ Edwin. 

Mrs. L. and Dora. ( Together.) Amen and amen ! 



Disposition of Characters, 



Edwin. 



Curtain. 



OBTAINING A PROMISE. 



IN THREE ACTS. 



llTi) 



OBTAINING A PEOMISE 



CHARACTERS. 

Andrew Elwood, A man who occasionally goes on a bender, 
Susan Elwood, His wife. 



COSTUMES. -MODERN. 



PROPERTIES. 

Table. Clipboard. Chairs. Cooking stove. Plates. Dishes. 
Cups. Saucers. Bread. Butter. Coffee pot, &c. Bottle lor 
Susan. 



Twenty-four hours is supposed to elapse between each act. 



(172) 



OBTAINING A PROMISE. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — A Kitchen. 



Mr. Elwood discovered sealed r. Mrs. Elwood preparing supper. 

Mr. Elwood. I have got home from the shop earlier than usual 
this evening. I account for that in this way : I was not working this 
p.m. You know, Susan, p.m. stands tor afternoon. I wasn't working 
this afternoon. I met John Raymond on the street and John said to 
me, "Hello, Andy, I haven't seen you for a long time." Then we shook 
hands. I always shake hands with a man when I haven't seen him 
for some time. Some people think there's no use in shaking hands, 
hut I'm in favor of it. I think it shows a sort of friendliness or a 
sort of a liking, or something or another. Yes, 1 go in for shaking 
hands. 

Mrs. Elwood. Your conversation shows that you have not been in 
the shop this afternoon, and it shows where you have been. 

Mr. E. Where have I been ? 

Mrs. E. You've been Co the tavern. 

Mr. E. Now, Susan, that is very unkind in you to say that I have 
been to the tavern. You say it as if you were very much displeased 
about it. But I Jiave been to the tavern; yes, I was at the tavern 
several times to-day. But, you know, Susau, when a fellow goes to 
the tavern he doesn't want to be told about it. It is unpleasant for 
the wife of a man's bosom to hurl at him the assertion that he has 

(173) 



174 OBTAINING A PROMISE. 

been at the tavern, or that he has been drinking. Now, Snsarj, I 
confess that I have been at the tavern, but it is very unkind in you 
to tell me that I have been there. And let us look at the matter in 
another light. I have been at the tavern and I know I have been 
there, and I cannot see what use there is in telling me that 1 have 
been there. Am I not cognizant of the fact? But we will go back 
to the first division of the subject. I have said that it was very un- 
kind in you, Susan, to say that I had been to the tavern. Yes, I 
made that remark and I will stand by it ; yes, I will stick to it. The 
wife of a man's bosom should not harrow up his feeling by telling 
him that he has been to the tavern. It is very unkind iii the wife of 
a man's bosom to do such a thing. But as I remarked before, I 
have been to the tavern. I meet the assertion boldly ; I do not flinch 
— 1 have been to the tavern. But why did I go to the tavern? That 
is the question which now arises and which requires an immediate 
answer. Tins is the answer : I met John Raymond on the street this 
afternoon, and John said to me, "Hello, Andy, I haven't seen you 
for a long time.'' And I said I hadn't seen him for a long time either. 
Then we shook hands. I always shake hands with a man when I 
haven't seen him for a long time. I haven't seen John Raymond 
since the time of the pumpkin flood. It was in the month of Sep- 
tember and all the pumpkins were swept away. This is the reason 
that flood was called the pumpkin flood. That was the last time I 
saw John Raymond, and, I suppose, that was the last time John saw 
me. The pumpkin flood, as near as I can recollect, transpired four 
years ago. Therefore, I had not seen John Raymond for four years. 
John said to me, " Andy, come to the tavern and we'll have a drink." 
Could I refuse? Could I refuse to drink with John Raymond? 
Could I refuse to drink with a man I had not seen since the pumpkin 
flood? Of course not. John is a gentleman and the idea of refusing 
to drink with him never entered my head. I went to the tavern 
with John and I felt that I was in good company. I drank with John 
and John drank with me, and after we had talked awhile I drank 
with John and John drank with me. Of course I couldn't think of 
going to the shop. I hadn't seen John since the time of the pump- 
kin flood, and it would have been very improper and uugentlemanly 
if I had left him and gone to tne shop. John and I walked around 
the town awhile and then we went into the tavern again. John asked 
me to drink and I asked John to drink and we had a nice time. I 
wanted John to come home with me this evening and get supper 
and stay all night, but he said he had promised to go to his brother- 
in-law's. Now, Susan, you shouldn't feel unkindly towards the wife 
of your bosom — that is, I mean, you shouldn't feel unkindly towards 
me ou this occasion for how could I do otherwise than to accept of 
John's invitation to go to the tavern and take a drink? Yon know 
John and I are old friends and I haven't seen him since the time of 
the pumpkin flood. I know I have lost half a day's work, but I can 



OBTAINING A. PROMISE. 175 

make that tip again, and yon know, Snsaan, John Raymond is a 
stranger in the village. I haven't seen him since the time of the 
pumpkin flood. 

Mrs. E. I wish you would stop your talk. You are so silly when 
you are drinking. 

Mr. E. Susan, or I might say Mrs. Elwood, you are a very unkind 
woman. Who, but an unkind woman, would make such a remark as 
that? Who hut an unkind woman would tell me to stop my talk? 
Who but an unkind woman would add tlie assertion that I am silly 
when I am drinking? Yes, Susan, or I might say, Mrs. Elwood, it 
is unkind, also unchristiaulike, also uncivilized, and very much 
Hottentotish for you to tell me to stop my t;dk. I believe that I am 
a fluent talker ; I talk with ease to myself and with ease to those who 
surround me. William Jones has often remarked that I am a smooth 
and a fluent talker, and William Jones should know about these things 
for he has mingled a great deal in society and has conversed with a 
great many different people. Yes, even though I say it myself, I be- 
lieve that I am a fluent talker. In the present age of the world, tht-re 
is not euough attention given to talking. Some people are misera- 
ble talkers and it makes me nervous to listen to them. I think the 
people of the present day should study the art of conversation and 
endeavor to talk better. It is delightful to listen to a man who can 
converse fluently, but I must say that I never gave any attention to 
the subject. I believe I am a natural talker ; it seems to be natural 
for me to talk fluently. This must be the case for I can talk with, 
great comfort to myself and with great comfort to those who surround 
me. 

Mrs. E. If you can't stop your talk I'd like you'd go out of the 
kitchen. 

Mr. E. Do I hear aright? Am I told to go out of the kitchen? 
Yes, I am told to go out of the kitchen. Then the question arises 
whose kitchen is this? Is it my kitchen ? If it is my kitchen should 
I not be allowed to sit within its walls and talk fluently to the wife 
of my bosom while she is preparing the vesper meal? But if this is 
not my kitchen whose kitchen is it? Is it John Thompson's or Tom 
Johnston's? Is it Sam Jackson's or Jack Sampson's? It belongs to 
somebody. All kitchens belong to somebody. There is one thing 
of which I am certain— a man whose name is Andrew Elwood is now 
in this kitchen and he has been told to stop his talk or clear out. 
This man, Andrew Elwood, is an upright man. He is a man who 
wants nothing but his own ; he is a man who would like to have 
peace and quietness reign in his domicile ; he is a man who lias al- 
ways striven to do the square thing. 'Tis true he has been drinking 
some to-day, but that was because he met an old friend. He met 
John Raymond and he hadn't seen him since the time of the pump- 
kin flood. There was nothing wrong or out of place in his drinking 
with an old friend. He and John had been fast friends for many 
yeajs and he thought it would be nothing but right and proper for 



176 OBTAINING A PROMISE. 

him to drink with John when he had not seen him since the time of 
the pumpkin flood. 

Mrs. E. You're an old fool. (Exit it. 

Mr. E. That's a mistake. I'm not an old fool, for I'm only forty, 
and when a man is forty he can't be said to be old. But am I a 
fool of auy kind? That is the question which now arises. Am I a 
young fool or am I an old fool ? Let us consider the matter. My 
name is Andrew Elwood. I am a fluent talker ; I have a shop in this 
village, and I am a well-to-do man. I go on a bender occasional^', 
but I think it is all right to go on a bender occasionally. If a man 
sticks closely to business he is liable to wear himself out ; I thiuk he 
should relax a little occasionally, or, in other words, he should "let 
up." Now I do not want to wear myself out — I do not want to strive 
so hard to make a living that I shall kill mvself. I thiuk that would 
be an absurdity. I think a man should take half a day occasionally 
and get on a high, and then he can go to work with renewed energy. 
I took this afternoon for rest and relaxation and Susan is somewhat 
displeased on account of it. Susan is an unreasonable woman — yes, 
very unreasonable. Susan would allow me to work three hundred 
and sixty-five days in a year, minus the fifty-two Sundays, if I was 
disposed to do so. But I am not disposed to do so. 1 must relax 
and go on a bender occasionally. Now what was more reasonable 
and righteous and just and proper than that I should relax this after- 
noon and go on a bender with John Raymond? He and I were firm 
friends when we were boys and I hadn't seen him since the time of 
the pumpkin flood. But Susan's gone and I suppose if I get any 
supper I'll have to get it myself. (Rise*.) I wonder where the 
dickens Susan went to anyhow. I suppose she's gone to bed. I'm 
inclined to think she would have slept better if she had had some- 
thing to eat. But I can get the supper without Susan just as well as 
with Susan. I see she has got the coffee made and I'm glad she has, 
for I never did quite understand the art and mystery of making cof- 
fee. (Draws out the table. ) I suppose the table has to be pulled 
out. Then what's.to be done next? (Stands as if in thought.) Oh, 
yes, I must put down the dishes next. (Goes to cupboard and gets a 
number of plates and dishes. ) Now, how many of these should 1 put 
down ? I guess I'll put all of them down so as to make myself believe 
that I am going to have a big supper. (A plate falls on the floor and 
breaks.) Hello! there goes a plate. But who cares for a plate? 
I'm on a bender and can afford to smash a dozen plates. (Places 
the dishes on the table. ) Now, what's to be done next? Thunder! I 
forgot to put on the table cloth. Well, I'll have to take up the dishes, 
for no sensible man will eat without a table cloth. ( Commences to 
gather up the dishes. Another plate falls and breaks.) Ginger hill! 
there goes another plate. ( Goes to door and calls. ) Susan ! I won- 
der where that woman went to, anyhow. (Returns to table.) I wish 
this supper was over. It's an awful bother to have to get supper and 
I don't wonder that Susan gets tired of it. ( Takes up a handful of 



OBTAINING A PROMISE. 177 

plates and lets another one fall on the floor. ) Jehosophat! Another 
plate gone. I'm drunker than I thought I was. ( Goes to door and 
calls. ) Susan ! Susan ! come here immediately or you won't have a 
plate in your house. Something's breaking them up dreadfully. 
(Tarns and goes to table.) I wonder where that woman's gone to. 
(Sits down.) I'm about tired of this business of getting supper and 
when I come to think of it, I'd rather go to bed without supper than 
to have the bother of getting it. And then if I did get the supper I 
suppose I would have to wash the dishes. I wouldn't wash dishes 
to-night for a thousand dollars. Ben Franklin says it's better to go 
to bed supperless than to rise in debt. I agree with Ben Franklin on 
that point. 1 11 go to bed. (Exit r. 

END OF ACT I. 



ACT II. 

Scene. — Same as Act I. Table spread for supper. 
Mrs. Elwood discovered seated. 

Mrs. E. Now I have supper nearly ready and when Andrew comes 
I intend to astonish hiin. I see that it has become necessary for me 
to put forth a mighty effort and endeavor to reclaim him. He is 
neglecting his work and drinking more and more, and if he cannot 
be arrested in his career he will soon be a confirmed drunkard. I 
feel that I must do something to endeavor to save him. When he 
comes I will pretend to be as much under the influence of liquor as 
he was yesterday evening, and I feel sure that I can make my talk 
as silly and disgusting as his was. Oh, what a curse intemperance 
is ! It changes a noble, high-minded man into a jabbering idiot ; it 
changes a kind-hearted husband into a fiend. Oh, if Andrew should 
continue to drink what would become of us? Already we are be- 
ginning to feel that there is such a thing as poverty. Heretofore we 
have known no such thing as want, but Andrew is neglecting his 
work and spending his money at the tavern, and if he should go on 
in this way we will soon be reduced to beggary. (A step heard out- 
side.) Ah ! he comes. I will step out for a few minutes. ( Exit r. 

Enter Mr. Elwood, r. 

Mr. E. I always like to come into the kitchen when I return from 
the shop. It seems more home like here than in any other part of 



178 OBTAINING A PROMISE. 

house, and I like to see Susan preparing the supper. (Sits down.) 
It seems to sharpen my appetite to get a smell of the victuals. I see 
the supper is nearly ready but Susan is absent, I suppose she is up- 
stairs, or it may be that she has run into one of the neighbors' 
houses for a minute. Susan is a good woman, but she looked rather 
glum this morning because of my bender yesterday with John Ray- 
mond. I suppose I should stop drinking, but it seems pretty hard 
to stop. Sometimes I say to myself that I will never drink another 
drop ; just because it worries and troubles Susan, and after awhile I 
begin to want a drink and before I know what I'm about I go and 
take it. And then I take another and another and it goes on until I 
get on a regular bender. I don't think I am in any danger— that 
isn't why I want to stop drinking— but just because it troubles Susan. 
(A step heard outside. ) Ah ! she's coming now and we'll get our 
supper. I hope she has forgotten about the affair of yesterday. 

Enter Mrs. Elwood, r., with bottle in her hand singing. Mr. Elwood 
springs up. 

Mrs. E. (Sings.) — 

"Bring the good old bugle, boys ! we'll sing another song — 
Sing it with that spirit that will start the world along — 
Sing it as we used to sing it fifty thousand strong, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 

(Flourishes the bottle as she sings the chorus.) — 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! we bring the Jubilee ! 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the flag that makes you free ! 
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea, 
While we were marching through Georgia." 

Mr. E. Good heavens ! Susan, what is the meaning of this? 

Mrs. E. (Sings.) — 

"How the darkies shouted when they heard the joyful sound! 
How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found ! 
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground, 
While we were marching through Georgia. 

Chorus. — Hurrah ! hurrah ! &c. 

Mr. E. Susan, what do you mean? Are you drunk? 

Mrs. E. No, Andrew, or I might say Mr. Elwood, not drunk, but 
jus' on a bender— hie. ( Drinks from her bottle. 

Mr. E. ( Starting forward. ) Oh, Susan, for Heaven's sake, stop I 
This is awful. 

Mrs. E (Walking around and staggering.) Awful— hie— what's 



OBTAINING A PROMISE. 179 

ftwful? Tisn't awful — Lie— to go on a bender, is it? Didn't you go 
on a— hie— bender yesterday and didn't I — Lie— go on a bender to- 
day. (Staggers.) Time about is fair play, I reckon. . 

Mr. E. Oh, Susan, you have degraded yourself. What will the 
neighbors say ? 

Mrs. E. Wha'll the nebbors say? Wha'll the nebbors say! I 
reckon the nebbors— hie — I reckon the uebbors'll say, Andrew wen' 
on a bender yes'erday an' Susan wen' on a bender to-day. Time 
about is fair play, you know. 

Mr. E. Oh, I never would have believed that it would come to 
this. 

Mrs. E ( Walking around and staggering. ) Never would have 
believed — hie— never would have believed it would come to this. 
( Straigldening up, flourishing her bottle and striking an attitude. ) Never! 
Never! ( Walking around. ) Ter'ble state of 'fairs ! Ter'ble state of 
fairs ! Mizzer Elwood gets drunk one day — hie— an' Mizzez Elwood 
gits drunk nex' day. Ter'ble state of 'fairs. But I ain't much drunk 
though — no, noz much drunk — only on a mos' awful big bender. 

Mr. E Susan, for goodness sake don't talk so loud. Do sit down 
and don't stagger around that way. Sit down or I will leave the 
house and never come back. 

Mrs, E. Sit down? Yes, I don't care 'fi do. This thing 'f bein' 
on bender sort 'f tires me. (Staggers to a chair and sits down. ) Yes, 
I'll sit down for a spell — hie. But wha'll you leave the house for? 
Did I leave the house when you got on a bender? Then would you 
leave the house when I giz zon a bender? (Rising and speaking ex- 
citedly. ) Lemme ask you one quezzion. Isn't the thing which is 
sauce for the goose also sauce for the gander— hie? That's a quez- 
zion for your 'sideration. When you went on a bender did I leave 
the house? When you made a hog of yourself did I leave the house? 
When I make a hog of myself ought you to leave the house? That 
is a quezzion for your 'sideration. (Staggers and falls bdo her chair.) 
I guess I'll sit down an' wait — hie— yed, I'll wait for the answer to 
that quezzion. 

Mr. E. Susan, will you give me that bottle ? 

Mrs. E. (Rising and speaking excitedly.) Give you my bottle? 
Never! — hie — never I But I'll give you a song. 

(Sings "The Little Brown Jug." 

"My wife and I live all alone 

In a little log hug we call our own ; 
She loves gin and I love run — 
I tell you now we've lots of fun. 

Chorus. Ha, ha, ha ! you and me, 

Little brown jug, don't I love thee? 

Ha, ha, ha ! you and me, 

Little brown jug, don't I love thee? 



180 OBTAINING A PROMISE. 

Mr. E. Oh, Susan, I would rather have followed you to your grave 
than to see you in this condition. Can you ever look me in the face 
again ? 

Mrs. E. What a quezzion ? Of course I can look you in the face 
— hie ; I'm looking you in the face now. What have I to be zhamed 
of? I'm only ou a rousin' big bender, and you— hie— you go on 
rousiu' bi<^' benders often and often. Andrew Elwood, let me ask von 
a quezzion : Can you ever look me in the face— hie— again after be- 
ing ou so many benders? This is the first time I ever went on a 
bender, but it's a pretty big bender. It's putty good fuu to go on a 
bender. I've just found that out — hie — and if -you continue to go on 
benders I'll continue to go on benders too. There isn't no use iu 
Andrew Elwood bavin' all the fun and Susan Elwood bavin' no fun. 
But I must have another drink from my bottle and then I'll sing 
some more. 

Mr. E. Oh, Susan, do not drink any more. 

Mrs. E. Ob, I inus' have another drink. It's mighty good when 
I once giz a taste. I want to git on a mos' awful big bender. One 
more drink will finish the bottle, and here goes. (Drinks.) Now 
I'll siug some more.. I'm a good siuger. 

"If I had a cow that gave such milk 
I'd dress her iu the finest silk ; 
I'd feed her ou the choisest hay 
And milk her forty times a day. 

Chorus. — Ha, ha, ha, &c. 

Now, Andrew, or I might say Mr. Elwood, I'll make a speech to you. 
I am a fluent speaker, 'specially when I am on a bender. Wheu I am 
on a bender I can speak and speak and never get tired. A great 
many people have told me that I am a fluent speaker. I suppose I 
could make a hit as a woman's rights speaker, but there would be a 
difficulty iu this respect, I would have to get on a bender before I 
could make a good speech. Some people are fluent talkers, but they 
have to get ou a bender before they can talk fluently. That's the 
case with Andrew Elwood and also with Susan Elwood. That last 
drink was a large drink and I am beginning to feel sort of queer. 
(Walks around and staggers.) . But you haven't had your supper, 
Andrew. Don't you want some supper? 

Mr. E. No. 'How can I eat aud my wife standing before me 
drunk? 

Mrs. E. ( Going up to him. ) Whaz zat you say ? Say — hie — say 
I'm drunk? That last drink was a big drink — yes — hie — a whopper 
— but neverzeless, I ain't drunk. ( Shaking her fist before his face. ) 
I hurl back the 'sertiou — hie— yes, I hurl back the 'sertion and I say 
it's a lie ! How do you like that, mister? I reckon I — hie — I have 
got some pluck. I show it too when I git on a bender. I ain't 'fraid 



OBTAINING A PROMISE. 181 

of no man. (Walks around and staggers.) I feel jus' big as any- 
body. ( Shouts. ) Whoop ! who's 'fraid ? 

Mr. E. Oh, I can't endure this. I must leave her — I must leave 
this place. 

Mrs. E. I hear what you've sayin'. When I'm on a bender, I can 
hear mos' anything. Would you leave me when I'm on a bender? 
Would you leave me when I am making a brute of myself jus' as you 
have done many a time? Did I leave you when yon was act-in,' the 
brute? No! 1 stood by you when you was in that disgustin' con- 
dition ; I have stood by you forty or fifty times when you were drunk 
and now you would desert me jus' because I have got upon a large 
bender. Shame on you, Andrew Elwood ; I thought you was a man. 
Stand bj' me till I git over this brute spell and it maybe that I will 
never git on a bender again. 

Mr. E. Oh, Susan, I sincerely hope you will never drink another 
drop of the accursed stuff. 

Mrs. E. That's what I've been hopin' about your case — hie— for a 
number of years. But hopin' didn't seem to do any good ; you kept 
gittin' worse and worse— hie — and I thought there wasn't any use for 
me to keep on strivin' and mournin' and feelin' bad and 1 jus' thought 
I'd take to the flovvin' bowl too, and drown my sorrows — hie — and 
we'd both go along joyfully down the road to destruction. 

Mr. E. I'll drink no more. I'll never drink another drop of tho 
cursed poison. 

Mrs. E. Now, Andrew, don't git 'cited. Don't say that unless 
you intend to — hie — unless you intend to stick to it. I feel pretty 
staggery ; (stagger's) let me lean against you, Andrew, for you st*y 
that I am the wife of your bosom. 

Mr. E. Susan, don't touch me until you are sober. I can't let 
you touch me. 

Mrs. E. Now — hie — you needn't be so mighty partie'lar. Ain't I 
the wife of your bosom ? 

Mr. E. Susan, hadn't you better retire to your room? Take a 
Bleep and you will feel better. 

Mrs. E. Take a zleep? Yes, I guess I'd bet'r take a zlf>ep. I 
won't — hie — I won't eat any zupper. Good night, Mizzer Elwood, 
I've 'eluded to go to bed and take a zleep. 

(Sings, "Ha, ha, ha," &c, and exits e. 

Mr. E. Has it come to this? Is my wife to be a drunkard? Is 
she to stagger on the streets and be mocked and laughed at by the 
boys of the village? I can't endure the thought of it. If she should 
come to this I will leave her — I will leave this place and hide from 
the lace of every man I know. I could not stay here and see my 
wife a drunkard. And yet, as she says, time about is fair play ; I 
was drunk yesterday and she is drunk to-day. But 1 never get as 
disgracefully drunk as she is. Oh, it is terrible to see her in this 
condition. And yet, should I blame her? She says she has been 
troubled about me ; she says she has been hopiug that I would do 



182 OBTAINING A PROMISE. 

better ; sbe says she has been striving to keep np appearances, but 
now she has concluded to let thiugs take their coarse, and that we 
may as well go joyfully together down the road to destruction. 
Well, if I can prevent it, we will stop on this road to destruction. 
We will not take another step — we will turn around immediately 
and endeavor to do better. I will never drink another drop of in- 
toxicating liquor ; and when she sees that I have taken a firm stand 
and determined to drink no more she will also give it up, and we can 
be as happy as we were in the days gone by. 

Mrs. E. (Sings outside.) "Ha, ha, ha," &c. 

Mr. E. I must quiet her or she will arouse the neighbors. 

(Exit*. 

END 0E ACT II, 



act in. 

Scene. — Same as Acts I. and II. Table spread, 
Mrs. Elwood discovered preparing supper. 

Mrs. E. Andrew will soon be here. I want to have a nice supper 
for him this evening. The biscuit are nicely browned, the waffles 
are light, the steak is tender and I know he will relish the peaches 
and cream. Poor Andrew! I know he was very much mortified on 
account of my last night's debauch. He said nothing about it this 
morning, but he looked very much downcast aud mortified. I think 
he will speak of it this evening ; if he does not, I will. I must have 
acted the drunkard pretty well, for he did not seem to know that I 
was only acting, and that my black bottle contained nothing but 
water. I do not want to have to act the same way again and I hope 
that he is already cured. It would be unpleasant for me to continue 
acting the drunkard— it would be unpleasant to continue singing 
songs and talking nonsense, but if he continues to drink I must pre- 
tend to drink too. I hear his step. Could he have been drinking to- 
day ? The thought makes me shudder. 

Enter Mr. Elwood, b.. 

Mr. E. Ah ! Susan, getting supper as usual? 

Mrs. E. (Aside.) He is sober and I am happy. (ToMn. El- 
wood.) Yes, Andrew, and I thought I w»ul3 get something nice for 
your supper. You must feel very hungry and tired when you coins 
home in the evening. 



"obtaining a promise. 183 

Mr. E. Yes, sometimes I do feel very hungry and tired. Yon are 
a kind woman, Susan. 

Mrs. E. And you are a kind man. 

Mr. E. But, Susan, you were intoxicated last night, and I have 
shuddered every time 1 thought of it to-day. 

Mrs. E. Aud I have often shuddered too, Andrew, when I thought 
how last you were becoming a drunkard. Oh, how happy I would 
be if you would only stop drinking. But, if you are going to go ou 
drinking why need 1 worry myself? — why need I work and strive to 
keep up appearances ? I will just give up and go with you to destruc- 
tion. 1 suppose I can drink as much as you, but if I can't, I can act 
as sil ly. Was I very drunk last night ? 

Mr. E. Yes, very drunk. 

Mrs. E. And you were very drunk the night before. 

Mr. E. Susan. 

Mrs. E. Well. 

Mr. E. "Will you promise that you will never drink another drop 
of intoxicating liquor if I make the same promise? 

Mrs. E. Yes, I will promise, and here's my hand. 

(Extends her hand and Mb. Elwood grasps it. 

Mr. E. Then, Susan, 1 promise you in good faith that I will never 
drink intoxicating liquor of any kind, and may the Lord help me to 
keep my promise. 

Mrs. E. May the Lord help us both, (retains Mr. Elwood's hand 
and both turn to audience) and may He enable us to work valiantly 
against this worst of all foes to both God and man, Intemperance. 



CtJETAIN. 



LITTLE PLAYS FOR LITTLE PEOPLE. 



A series of favorite Tales of childhood, arranged in a dramatic form for home 
performance, school exhibitions, etc. "With full directions as regards manage- 
ment of costumes, scenery, etc. 

CONTENTS. 



Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp. — 
A Drama of ups and downs, for young 
ladies and gentlemen, in 2 Acts. 6 Male 
and 3 Female characters. Mandarin, 
ladies in waiting, maids of honor, 
ushers, gaards, gamins, etc. Costumes 
elaborate. Scenes, interiors and exteri- 
ors. Time of representation, one hour. 

Blue Beard; or, Female. Curiosity. — 
A Sensation Drama in 2 Acts. 6 Male 
and 2 Female characters. Costumes, 
Turkish. Scene, a room in Blue Beard's 
castle. Time of representation, thirty 
minutes. 

Frog Prince (The).— A Fairy Play in 
1 Act. 2 Male audi Female character. 
Costumes, doublet, hose, puffed breech- 
es, Spanish cloak, regal robes, long man- 
tle and train, etc. Scene, a wood and 
apartment in a palace. Time of repre 
sentation, twenty minutes. 

Jack the Giant Killer. — A Fairy Play 
in 1 Act. 4 Male and 3 Female charac- 
ters. Costumes, Knickerbocker suit, 
cap and feathers, short coat, cap. etc., 
for Jack, any grotesque dress for 
Giant, neglige dress for ladies. Scene, 
a plain room. Time of representation, 
twenty minutes. 



characters. Costumes, wolf's mask, 
tunic, short wide trousers, long boots, 
mob cap, quilted petticoat, etc. Scene, 
interior and exterior of cottage. Time 
of representation, twenty-five minutes. 

Little iSilver Hair and the Three 
Sears. — A Pastoral Drama in 1 Act. 2 
Male and 2 Female characters. Cos- 
tumes, bear's head mask, top boot*, 
flowered waistcoat, "girl of the period '* 
dress, little girl's dress. Sccue. wood 
and interior of cottage. Time of repre- , 
sentation, fifteen minutes. i 

Loves of Little Bo-Peep (The).— -In 1 
Act. 5 Male and 4 Female characters. 
Costumes, square-cut coats, knee- 
breeches, flowered waistcoats, silk 
stockings, shoes and buckles, farmer's 
dress, flowered gown, quilted petticoats: 
traveling dress, shepherdess' hat and 
ribbons, etc. Scenes, kitchen and afield. 
Time of representation, forty minutes. 

Robin Hood; or. The Merry Mm of 
Sherivood Forest. — A Sylvan Drama in 
2 Acts. 11 Male and 3 'Female charac- 
ters. Costumes, tunic, armor, tights, 
russet boots, bishop's dress, monk's 
dress, crown, dresses trimmed, with er- 
mine, etc. Scenes, a forest, a grand 
hall. Time of representation, forty-five 
minutes. l 



Little Bed Biding Hood. — A Fairy 
Play in 1 Act. 3 Male and 3 Female 

This book contains full directions for producing the " elaborate scenery and 
tames " of the above plays in any parlor, at very little trouble and expense. 
PRICE 30 CENTS. 



HO? WE MANAGED OUR PRIVATE THEATRICALS; 1 ! 

Or, a Guide to the Amateur Stage. 

Containing plain directions for the construction and arrangement of the Stage, 
painting the" Scenery, getting up the Costumes, making the' Properties and Ac- 
cessories, Hints ou Stage Effects, instructions for making Calcium Lights, etc., 
etc. Prepared for the use of schools, private families and dramatic clubs. 
CONTENTS IN PAPT. 



Introduction. Construction of a 
Stage. Proscenium and Auditorium. 
The Curtain and Drop. Lighting the 
Stage. Scenery and Scene Painting. 
Costumes. Properties and Accessories. 
Stage Effects, etc.. etc. 
Sixteen Descriptive Illustrations and Diagrams. 

PESCE 23 CENTS. 
Either of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 
HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

Wo. 1 Chambers Street, New York. 



Penelope Anne — A Musical Farce 
in 1 Act. '4 Male, 1 Female character. 
Costumes and Properties easy. Scene, 
Public Poom. in a small hotel on the 
Continent. Time in representation, 
bout thirty minutes. 



PARLOR AMUSEMENTS FOR THE YOUNG FOLKS. 



ENTS. 

Yilikcns and His Dinah, an Illustra- 
ted Ballad. 

Charades (fifteen different ones). 

Games of Thought. 

The Mental Index. 

Declamation, with Selections. 

Social Amusements, or, Full Directions 
for a Hall Entertainment and how to 
prepare it in any City or Village. 

Private Theatricals. 

List of Plays suitable for Private Per- 
formances. 



Designed for the use of Schools, Church Societies, Home Amusement, etc., etc. 
By G-. B. Bartlett. New edition. Revised and enlarged. Every one of the 
entertainments contained in this work have been tried before large audiences iu 
hundreds of cities, under the personal supervision of the author, and they are now 
simplified and arranged for performance by old and young. 

COXT 
Hints on Tableaux. 
Scenes in the Life of Marie Stuart. 
Elaborate Tableaux. 
The Lily Maid of Astolat. ■ 
Jarley Wax Works. 
The Babes in the Wood, a Pantomime. 
The Magic Mirror, a Vision. 
The Miser's Supper, a Pantomime. 
Love in Ambush, a Pantomime. 
The Sleeping Beauty, a Pantomime. 
Auld Robin Gray, an Illustrated Ballad. 
The Mistletoe Bough, an Illustrated 
Ballad. 

Neat Paper Covers. Price 30 cts. 

Bouud in Cloth 75 cts. 

Parlor Tableaux ; or, Animated Pictures. 

Eor the use of Families, Schools and Public Exhibitions. By Tony Denier, 
author of " Tony Denier's Parlor Pantomimes," " Amateur's Guide," "Shadow 
Pantomimes," etc. Containing about eighty popular subjects, with plain and ex- 
plicit directions for arranging the stage, dressing-rooms, lights, full description of 
costumes, duties of stage manager, properties and scenery required, and all tho 
necessary directions for getting them up. Among the contents there are nine 
tableaux for male and an equal number for female characters only. A great num- 
ber of the<n introduce groups of boys and many more groups of girls only ; others 
again introducing both ; and still more in which entire classes can take part. 
Everything is stated in a plain, simple manner, so that it will be easily understood; 
everything like style or unnecessary show has been avoided. For public or pri- 
vate entertainment, there is nothing which is so interesting and instructive as the 
tableau Price £ 5 cts. i 

Shadow Pantomimes; or, Harlequin in the Shade. 

How to get them up and how to act in them ; with full and concise instruc- 1 
tions and numerous illustrations. Also, full and complete descriptions of proper- 
ties and costumes. 

CONTENTS. 



Introduction ; Shadow Bluff, or. Who's 
Who ? Tooth Drawing Extraordinary ; 
Amputation like Winking ; The Haunt- 
ed House; We Won't Go Home till 
Morning; Jocko, or the Mischievous 
Monkey; The Madcap Barber; Crib- 
bage. or, The Devil among the Cards; 
The Lover's Stratagem ; The Game of 

It has been the aim of the author to provide harmless home amusement for old 
and young, excluding everything objectionable to sound morality and good home- 
training. By Tony Denier, Pantomiinist, author of " Tony Denier's Parlor Pan- 



Base Ball ; Regular Hash, or, The 
Boarding- House Conspiracy; The Me- 
chanical Statue; The African Sere- 
naders; The Model Prize Fighf; The 
Magic Cask, or, The Industrious and 
Idle Apprentice; The Tragical Duel, 
or, The Comical Rivals; Old Dame 
Trot and Her Comical Cat. 



tommies," " Parlor Tableaux," •' Amateur's Guide,' etc. Price. 



,,'Ao cts. 



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No. 1 Chambers Street, New Yorlc. 



THEATRICALS AND ELOCUTION. 



The Actor's Art. 

Pes Requisites and how to obtain them, its Defects, and how to remove them. 
By Charles William Smith, Professor of Elocution in the University of Oxford, 
author of "Clerical Elocution," "Heading, Speaking and Action,'' "Common 
Blunders Made in Speaking and Writing," "Elocution Without a Master," etc., 
etc. Containing clear and full directions in every branch of the Art; with com- 
plete and valuable instructions for beginners relative to rehearsals, entrances and 
exits, general hints on action, qualities of voice, eto., etc. In short, an indispen- 
sable book to the amateur. Price 15 cts. 

The Amateur's Guide to Home or Drawing-Room Theatri- 
cals. 

How to get them up and how to act in them. Edited by Tony Dexter, author of 
" Denier's Parlor Pantomimes," " Shadow Pantomimes," " " N arlor Tableaux," etc., 
etc. Containing full and complete instructions in every branch of the Dramatic 
Art. We have given special attention to the selection P pieces for private repre- 
sentation, also giving practical advice as to Dressing, Making Up, Properties, 
Stage Illusions and Effects, Deportment, Speaking and Effective Acting, Selected 
Scenes for Amateurs, Stage Directions, Rehearsals, Scenery and Scene Paint- 
ing, Pules for Amateur Clubs, Theatrical Publications, a full list . American 
Theatrical Tradesmen in every Branch. The most complete book, in its variety 
of details, ever published. New American edition, corrected to date. 
Price 35 cts. 

The Art of Public Speaking. 

An Exposition of the Principles of Oratory. By Samuel Neil, author of " Cul- 
ture and Self-Culture," "The Young Debater," etc., etc. Containing the nature 
and principles of Public Speaking; Ancient and Modern Eloquence.; Parliamen- 
tary Eloquence; Eorensic Eloquence; Eloquence of the Pulpit, etc., etc. Eor 
those who desire to become ready off-hand speakers, this book is invaluable — con- 
taining, as it does, clear directions how to arrange ideas quickly, and give them 
utterance with a proper regard for purity of intonation, clearness of articulation 
and appropriate gesture. Price 35 cts. 

Elocution Without a Master. 

A Self-Instructor in the Art of Beading and Speaking well. A work for teach- 
ing not only the beginner, but for perfecting every one in this most desirable of 
all accomplishments. For youth this book is both interesting and valuable; and 
for the adult, whether professionally or socially, it is oue they cannot dispense 
with. The accompanying instructions are so plain, direct and forcible, that 
tlic least intelligent can* easily understand all the rules and precepts of the glori- 
ous art that has immortalized Calhoun, Clay, Webster, Sumner, aud a legion more 
of the bright lights of our country. Price 15 cts. 

Hand Book of Elocution and Oratory. 

Being a Systematic Compendium of the necessary Rules for attaining Proficien- 
cy in Beading and Speaking. Witli copious and interesting examples. 

This treatise on Elocution and Oratory has been prepared with a strict regard 
to practical utility, by a favorite tragedienne of the stage. By attention to its 
rules the learner may 'rapidly acquire the art of reading alone with due emphasis, 
and of expres'sing himself in a set speech or a recitation with propriety. Though 
chiefly designed for social purposes, it will also prove a safe guide for those who 
wish to establish a well founded professional reputation, either as readers, speak- 
ers or actors. 

CONTENTS. 
Preliminary Bemarks on the Leading Principles of Elocution. Family Beading. 
Table Oratory. Wedding Breakfast Speeches. Public Beading. Alter Dinner 
Speeches. Funeral Orations. Verse. The Bar. The Pulpit. The Stage. 
Parliamentary. The Lecture Desk. The Platform. Conclusion. 

Price 30 cts. 

Either of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 
*HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers 

No. 1 Chambers Street, New York. 



rad End-Lien's Hand-BooK. 



Containing some of the best jokes and repartees of the most celebrated "burnt 
cork " performers of our day. Bones and Tainbo in all sorts and manner of 
scrapes. Also, containing a rich collection of Ballads, humorous and pathetic, 
Ethiopian Dialogues, Sketches, Plantation Scenes, Eccentric Doings, Humorous 
Lectures, Laughable Interludes, Huge Africanisms, Burlesque Speeches, Mirth- 
provoking Witticisms, Conundrums, Tarns, Plantation Songs and Dances, etc., 
etc. In short, a complete Hand-Book of Burnt Cork Drollery, which will bo 
found alike useful to the professional and amateur. 

CONTENTS. 



A Bird that Can't be Plucked. 

Annihilating Time and Space. 

Beautiful Isle of the Tropical Sea. 

Bet, The. 

Big Fortune, A. 

Blackberrying. 

Bones and his Little Game. 

Bones and the Monkey Tricks. 

Bones as a Fortune Teller. 

Bones as a Legitimate Actor. 

Bones as a Prize Fighter. 

Bones as a " Stugent in de Expensary. 

Bones as a Walkist. 

Bones assists at the Performance of 

New Piece. 
Bones Attends a Spiritual Seance. 
Bones nets Stuck. 
Bones in Love. 

Bones keeps a Boarding-House. 
Bones on George Washington. 
Bones on the Liij'ht Fantastic. 
Bones Plays O'Fella. 
Bones sees a Ghost. 
Bones 'Slopes with Sukev Sly. 
Bones tells a, "Fly" Story. 
Brudder Bones as an Inkslinger. 
Brudder Bones in a New Character. 
Brudder Bones' Love Scrape. 
Chestnut Tree, The. 
"Collud"Ball, The. 
Conundrums. 
Dancing Mad. 

Dat's What I'd Like to know. 
De Madder of Iuwention. 
Deference, The. 

'' Far Away in Alabam'." \ 

Fo ur- E 1 e v e it- Forty-Four. 
Four Meetings, The. 



From de Poika. 

Gal from Lackawanna, The. 

Girl at the Sewing Machine, The. 

" Go Work for Your Libin'." 

Hannah Jane and Me. 

How Bones Became a Minstrel. 

How Tarn bo -look his Bitters., 

Impulsive Oration. 

Jeallusest of Her Sect. 

Legal Problem, A. 

Liberal Discount for Cash. 

Manager in a Fix, The. 

Mathematics. 

Merry Life, A. 

Momentous Question. 

Mosquitoes. 

Notes. 

Ob Course. 

Pomp and Ephy Green. 

Presidency on de Brain. 

Proposed Increase of Taxes. 

Railroad Catastrophe. 

Ring, Ring de Banjo. 

Rough ou'Lambo. 

School's In. 

Shakspenre with a Vengeance. 

Simple Sum in Arithmetic. 

Tambo's Traveling Agent. 

The Pet-visions, Josiar. 

Thieves. 

Tonsorial. 

Toast, A. 

Uncle Eph's Lament. 

Waiting to See Him Oft. 

Way Down in Georgia 'Fo'de Wa'. 

Western Serenade. 

You Bet. 

Etc., Etc., Etc. 



PRICE 30 CEJVTS. 
§ent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

No. 1 Chambers Street, New York. 



DARKY PLAYS. 



A collection of Ethiopian Dramas, Farces, Interludes, Burlesqne Operas, Ec- 
centricities. Extravaganzas, Comicalities, Whimsicalities, etc., etc. As played 
by the principal "burnt-cork" performers all over the Union. In Six Parts. 
16mo. Illuminated paper cover. 

CONTENTS OF EACH PART. 



Part T.—Deaf~-In a Horn; 1 Scene. 
2 Male characters. — Desdemonum,- 3 
Scenes. 6 Male, 1 Female character. — 
De Trouble Begins at Nine,- 1 Scene. 2 
Male characters. — Challenge Dance,- 1 
Scene. 3 Male characters. — Mishaps of 
Ca-sar drum; 3 Scenes. 3 Male, 2 Fe- 
male characters. — New Year's Calls,- 5 
Scenes. 5 Male, 2 Female characters.— 
Nobody's Son; 1 Scene. 2 Male charac- 
ters. — Scipio Africanus; 3 Scenes. 3 
Male, 1 Female character.— Scenes at 
Gurney's (Scenes in the Studio); 1 
Scene. 3 Male characters.— 16,000 
Years Ago; 1 Scene. 3 Male characters. 
— Dancing Mad; 1 Scene. 6 Male, 1 
Female character. 

Part II.— The Coopers; 1 Scene. 6 
Male, 1 Female character. — Jolly Mil- 
lers; 1 Scene. 3 Male. 1 Female char- 
acter. — Mischievous Mgger; 1 Scene. 

4 Male, 2 Female characters. — Sham 
Doctor; 3 Scenes. 4 Male, 2 Female char- 
acters. — Virginia Mummy; 4 Scenes. 
6 Male, 1 Female character. — Fighting 
for the Union,- 3 Scenes. 4 Male, 2 Fe- 
male characters. — Dixie,- 1 Scene. 3 
Male, 1 Female character. 

Part HI.— Ticket- Taker; I Scene. 5 
Male characters.— Uncle Jeff; 5 Scenes. 

5 Male, 2 Female characters. — Black 
Shoemaker-, 1 Scene. 4 Male, 2 Female 
characters. — Rooms to Let; 1 Scene 2 
Male, 1 Female character. — Troublesome 
Servant; 1 Scene. 2 Male characters. 
—Oh, Hush! 3 Scenes. 4 Male, 1 Fe- 
male character. — Quack Doctor; 1 Scene. 
4 Male, 1 Female character. — Darky 
Tragedian; 1 Scene. 2 Male charac- 
ters. 

Part TV.— Three Black Smiths; 1 



3 Male characters.-><?rca£ Ar- 
rival; 1 Scene. 3 Male characters. — 
Les Miser ables {Unhappy Fair); 1 
Scene. 3 Male characters. — Hop of 
Fashion; 2 Scenes. 5 Male. 2 Female 
characters.— The Wreck; 1 Scene. 4 
Male. 2 Female characters. — Dat Same 
Old Coon,- 2 Scenes. 4 Male, 2 Female 
characters. — De Maid ob de Hunkpun- 
cas; 1 Scene. 2 Male characters. — Bones 
at a Raffle; 2 Scenes. 3 Male charac- 
ters. — A n Elephant on Ice; 1 Scene. 2 
Male characters. 

Part V.— Magic Penny; 3 Scenes. 6 
Male, 1 Female character. — Yilikens 
and Dinah; 1 Scene. 4 Male, 1 Female 
character. — Old Hunks,- 1 Scene. 3 
Male characters. — Highest Price for Old 
Clothes; 1 Scene. 3 Male characters. — 
Stage-Struck Darky; 1 Scene. 2 Mule, 
lJFemale character. — Black Crook Bur- 
lesque; 2 Scenes. 7 Male, 2 Female 
characters. — Turkeys in Season,- 2 
Scenes. 3 Male characters. — Old Dad's 
Cabin,- 1 Scene. 2 Male, 2 Female 
characters.— A unty Chloe,- 1 Scene. 1 
Male, 1 Female character. 

Part VI. — Bone Squash,- 8 Scenes. 9 
Male, 3 Female characters.— The Black 
Statue; 1 Scene. 4 Male, 2 Female char- 
acters. — Mazeppa,- 2 Scenes. 7 Male, 2 
Female characters. — Jack s the Lad; 6 
Scenes. 7 Male, 2 Female characters. — 
Feast,- 1 Scene. 4 Male, 2 Female char- 
acters. — The Hypochondriac-, 2 Scenes. 
2 Male characters. — The Actor and the 
Singer; 1 Scene. 4 Male characters.— 
Shylock; 3 Scenes. 5 Male, 2 Female 
characters — Old Uncle Billy; \ Scene. 
2 Male, 1 Female character. 



PRICE, EACH PART, 30 CENTS. 

Sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

No, 1 Chambers Street, New York* 



EVENING ENTERTAINMENTS. 



A collection of Plays, Charades, Tableaux, Wax "Works, Parlor Games, Amuse- 
ments, etc., etc. 

CONTENTS. 



" All is not Gold that Glitters. 1 '— A 
Dramatic Proverb in 1 Scene. 2 Male 
and 3 Female characters. Costumes, 
modern. Scenery, simple. Time in rep- 
resentation, twenty minutes. 

Pilgrimage. — An Acting - Charade in 
4 Acts. 4 Male and 4 Female charac- 
ters. (One an Irish servant.) "Cos- 
tumes, modern. Scenery, simple. Time 
in representation, forty-five minutes. 

A Little Play for Little Folk*.— {A 
Christmas Piece . 4 Male and 3 Female 
characters. Costumes, easy. Scene, a 
back parlor. Time in representation, 
twenty minutes. 

Ti> e' Miser's Supper. — A Trick Panto- 
mime. 3 Male characters. Costumes, 
scenery and properties simple and easy. 
Time in representation, fifteen minutes. 

Jarley's Wax Works.— 9 Male and 5 
Female characters. Costumes and scene 
easily arranged. Time in representa- 
tion, 'thirty miautea. 



Tableau Tivants.-~The Surrender of 
Calais, 1347. Queen Isabella and Roger 
Mortimer, 133U. The Marriage of Hen- 
ry VII with Elizabeth of York, 1486. 
Murder of David Rizzio, 1566. Charles 
I and His Children, 1649. All of the 
above can easily be arranged with ma- 
terial in almost any family. 

Parlor Games and Amusements. — 
The One-Syllable Game. The Dialogue 
Game. The Game of Clumps. The 
Blind Feeding the Blind. Blowing out 
the Candle— an Optical Delusion. A 
Match Under the Microscope. The 
Modus Operandi of Table Raising. Act- 
ing Rhymes. Seeing through your hand. 
To Take off a Person's Shirt while His 
Clothes are on. 

Chemical Recreations. — Rosin Grapes. 
To Hold Piiper over the Flame of a 
Candle without Burning it. Cold and 
Hot, Which is Which? The Candle In- 
visibly Extinguished, 



PRICE 15 CENTS. 



THE HOLIDAY QUEST. 



t A collection of Stories, Games and Amusements for winter evenings. 
CONTENTS. 



The Editor's Christmas Greeting, il- 
lustrated. Found in a Muniment Chest, 
by the author of " Lady Audley's Se'- 
cret." The Death's-Head Club— A Le- 
gend of Savannah. Carol. A. Million 
a Minute. Card Tricks, 5 illustrations. 
Modern Popular Conjuring. Games for 
the Little Ones. Blue Beard Tableaux, 
3 illustrations. An Acting Drama. The 
Boomerang, illustrated. Amusing Ex- 



periments. The Mystery of the Floating 
Head, 2 illustrations. The Dancing 
Skeleton. Bobbing Around; or, The 
Game of Families. Lost and Found in 
the Snow. Nuts to Crack. Puzzles, 
Enigmas, Charades, Conundrums, etc., 
etc., 24 illustrations. The Christmas 
Tree, illustrated, etc., etc., etc. One 
volume, paper covers. 



PRICE lO CENTS. 

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HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

No. 1 Chambers Street, New York. 



SFHHSHIAMA, 



An unrivaled collection of the most popular pieces of the day, embracing 
Pathetic, Serious and Comic Speeches and Recitations, in prose and poetry. 
Suitable for Anniversaries, Exhibitions, Social Gatherings and Evening Parties. 
It embraces French, Dutch, Irish, Yankee and Ethiopian Stories and Speeches. 
Tery many of the Speeches and Recitations contained in this volume will be found 
in no other work of the kind. 

CONTENTS. 



Buck Eanshaw's Funeral 

Burial of Little Nell. 

The Cane-bottomed Chair. 

The Drummer Boy's Burial. 

The Dutchman's Schmall Pox. 

Ginevra. 

The Goddess of Slang. 

Hope and Fear. 

Jim Wolf and the Cats. 

Katrina Likes Me Poody "Well. 

3Iark Twain's First Interview with 

Artemus Ward. 
Metamora to the Council. 
Miss Maloney Goes to the Dentist. 
Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question. 
Mr. Coville's Easy Chair. 



The Naughty Little Girl. 
The New Year's Sleigh Ride. 
Norman Leslie's Address to the Jury. 
Oh, Why should the Spirit of Mortal be 

Proud ? 
Out of the Old House. 
The Professor of Signs. 
Recollections of My Christmas Tree. 
Schneider Sees Leah. 
Shamus O'Brien. 
Sheridan's Ride.. 

Signor Billsmithi's Dancing Academy. 
Tom O'COnner'sCat. 
Vat You Please. 
Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles. 
Etc., Etc., Etc. 



PRICE 30 CENTS. 



THE STUMP SPEAKER, 



Being a collection of Yankee, Dutch, French, Irish and Ethiopian Stump 
Speeches and Recitations, Burlesque Orations, Laughable Scenes, Humorous 
Lectures, Button-bursting Witticisms, Ridiculous Drolleries, Funny Stories, etc., 
etc. 

CONTENTS. 



Gotleib Klebcyergoss on the War. 

Stick a pin dere, Brudder Horace. 

Paddy O' Toole's Log. 

Artemus Ward's Advice to Husbands. 

Burlesque Speech. 

Sergeant Buzfuz in the case of Bardell 

vs. Pickwick. 
De Milk in de Cocoanut. 
Courting in French Hollow. 
Or any Oder Man's Dog. 
Impulsive Nigger Oration. 
Crockett's Advice to Office-seekers. 
A Night's Adventure. 
Crystal Palace (A Nigger Lecture). 
Political Stump Speech. 

PRICE 15 CENTS. 

Either of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 
HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

No. 1 Chambers Street, New_Yorlt^ 



Patriotic Nigger Speech. 

Sam Slicks Definition of -a Sweetheart 

and a Wife. 
Man, A Nigger Analysis of Natural 

History. 
The Frenchman and the Rats. 
Hans Schlackenlichter's Snake. 
Ze Moskeetare. 
Gotlieb Klebcyergoss Again. 
A Puzzled Dutchman. 
A Dutch Cure. 

Burlesque Oration on Matrimony. 
Dat's So— an' more too. 
Etc., Etc., Etc. 



ARNOLD'S 

Dialogues, Plays and Speeches. 



A collection of short "Dramatic Sketches, "Witty and Sparkling Dialogues, and a 
variety of Pathetic, Serious and Comic Speeches. Designed for the use of schools, 
social gatherings and evening parties, by Andre Aknold. 
CONTENTS. 

ter. Costumes, modern. Scene, a draw- 
ing-room. Time in representation, 
fifteen minutes. 

The Babes in the Wood; or. The Fe- 
rocious Uncle and the Avenging Robins. 
—A Domestic Tragedy in 1 Act. 7 
Male characters. Costumes and scen- 



DlALOGTJES: 

Mrs. Sniffles' Confession. — 1 Male and 

1 Female character. 
The French Cook. — 2 Male characters. 
Examination Day at the Seminary.— 11 

Female characters. 
Fashionable Requirements. — 3 Female 

characters. 
The Poet Under Difficulties.— 5 Male 

characters. 
The Goddess oi Folly.— 12 Female char- 
acters. 
The Light of Love. — 2 Male characters* 
The Debating Club. — 4 Male charac- 
ters. 
The Fox and the Ranger.— 2 Male char- 
acters. 
Plays: 

A Noble Vagabond. — A Sketch in 1 Act. 
2 Male characters. Costumes, Spanish. 
Scene, simple. Time in representation, 
fifteen minutes. 

The Three Men of Science. — A Comic 
Sketch in 1 Act. 4 Male characters. 
Costumes and scenes easy. Time in 
representation, thirty mimites. This is 
a very laughable piece, and cannot fail 
to " bring down the house." 

Slighted Treasures. — A Petite Come- 
fly in 1 Act. 4 Female characters. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Scenery, plain. Time 
in representation, forty -five minutes. 

The Harvest Storm.— A Domestic 
Drama in 1 Act. 10 Male characters. 
Costumes, modern. Scene, simple. Time 
in representation, forty minutes. 

A Silent Woman. — Comedietta in 1 
Act. 1 Male and 1 Female character. 
Costumes, modern. Scene, a drawing- 
room. Time in representation, twenty 
minutes. 

Furnished Apartments. — A Comic 
Interlude in 1 Act. 5 Male characters. 
Costumes and scenery easy. Time in 
representation, fifty minutes. 

Tact and Fact. — A Comic Sketch in 
1 Scene. 1 Male and 1 Female charac- 



ery easy. Time in representation, thirty 
minutes. 

Too Attentive by Half. — A Comic 
Sketch in 1 Act. 2 Male and 1 Female 
character. Costumes, modern. Scene, 
a handsomely furnished apartment. 
Time in representation, thirty minutes. 

Decidedly Cool. — A Comic Sketch in 
1 Act. 2 Male and 1 Female character. 
Costumes, modern. Scene, simple. Time 
in representation, twenty minutes. 

Killing Time. — A Comedietta iu 1 Act. 
1 Male and 1 Female character. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Scene, an elegant apart- 
ment. Time in representation, twenty- 
five minutes. 

Speeches: 
Rory O' Moore's Present to the Priest. 
The Widow Redott's Letter to Elder 

Sniffles. 
The Yankee Landlord. 
Lord Dundreary's Riddle. 
Antony and Cleopatra. 
Lecture on Rad Roys. 
Hezekiah Stubbins' Oration, July 4th. 
Old Sugar's Courtship. 
Mr. Caudle Wants a " Latch-Eey." 
A Mother to Her Roy. 
The Falls of Lodore. 
The Rattle of Ivry. 
" All We Ask is to be Let Alone." 
The Two Roads. 
Custer's Last Charge. 
Spartaeus to the Gladiators at Capua. 
Josh Riflings on Courting. 
The Three Warnings. 
The Debating Society. 
Jimmy Rutler and the Owl. 
Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man. 
A Showman on the Woodehuck. 



1 Volume, Neat Paper Covers. Price ■> 30 cts. 

Round in Cloth. Price 50 cts. 

Sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 

HAPPY HOURS COMPANY, Publishers, 

No, 1 Chambers Street, New York. 



TEMPERANCE PLAYS. 



PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. 



Aunt Dinah's Fledge. — Drama in 2 Acts. By Harky Seymour. 6 Male, 
3 Female characters. Scenery and properties, easy. Costumes of the present 
day. Very effective play. Time of representation, one hour. 

Drunkard's Warning (The). Drama in 3 Acts. By C. W. Taylor. 
6 Male, 3 Female characters. Scenery aDd properties simple. Costumes, 
modern. This play is a general favorite amongramateurs. Time of represen- 
tation, about one hour and three-quarters. 

Fifteen Years of a Drunkard's Life. —Melodrama in 3 Acts. By 
Douglas Jerrold. 10 Male, 4 Female characters. Costumes, modern. Prop- 
erties, simple. Scenery, somewhat elaborate. Time of representation, about 
one hour and three-quarters. 

Fruits of the Wine Cup.— Drama in 3 Acts. By Jno. H. Allen. 6 
Male, 3 Female characters. Costume3, modern. Properties, simple. Scenery, 
easily arranged. An excellent play for amateur performance. Time of repre- 
sentation, about one hour and twenty minutes. 

Game of Billiards (A). — Sketch in 1 Act. By McDermott, and Tbumble. 

1 Male and 2 Female characters. Costumes, modern. Scene, easy. Time of 
representation, twenty minutes. 

.Last Drop (The). — Drama in 1 Act. By John H. Delafield. 7 Male and 

3 Female characters. Costumes, modern. Scenes, a plain room, a street and 
a garret. Time of representation, twenty-five minutes. 

Out in the Streets. — Drama in 2 Acts By S. N. Cook. 6 Male, 4 Female 
characters. Wherever this Drama has. been presented, it has been received 
with the greatest enthusiasm. Listeners have been melted to tears at the 
troubles of Mrs. Bradford, and in the next scene been convulsed with laughter 
at the drolleries of North Carolina Pete The characters are excellently 
drawn, and if a play i3 needed that will exactly till the requirements of a small 
company, order this one. Time of representation, one hour. 

Pint of Ale (A). — Sketch in 1 Act. 3 Male and 2 Female characters. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Scene, plain. Time of representation, twenty minutes. 

Ten Nights in a Bar-Room. — Drama in 5 Acts. Dramatized by Wm. W. 
Pratt. 11 Male, 5 Female characters. Costumes, modern Properties and 
scenery easily managed. This play has several very good parts, among others 
a first-class Yankee character. Time of representation, about two hours. 

Wine Cup (The); or. Saved at Last. — Sketch in 1 Scene. 5 Male and 

4 Female characters. Costumes, torn coat, shabby pants, checked pants, fancy 
vest, child's shabby dress, policeman's uniform, white dress. Scenes, bar- 
room, prison. Time of representation, twenty minutes. 

Wrong Bottle (The) — Sketch in 1 Act. By McDermott and Trumble. 

2 Male characters. Irishman and an eccentric professor. Costumes ad Libitum. 
Scene, a study. Uproariously funny. 1 ime of representation, twenty minutes. 

Any of the above will be sent by mail, on receipt of price, by 

Happy Hours Company, Publishers, 

No. 1 CHAMBERS STREET, NEW YORK. 

*** A complete Catalogue of Plays can be had free, on application, or will be 
sent by mail, postage paid. «. 



EVERY BOY HIS OWN MANUFACTURER. 

Containing instructions in Carpentry, Turning, Boai building, and 
Glass Blowing, with full instructions how to make Sviam Engines, 
Locomotive Engines, Electric Telegraphs, Steamboats, Dioramas, 
Clocks, Brackets, Telescopes, etc. Profusely illustrated. Five Parts. 

CONTENTS OF EACH PABT. 

Part 1. Carpentry, 33 Illustrations. Turning in Wood and Ivory, 
18 Illustrations. How to make a Steam Engine, 2 Illustrations. 

Part 2. How to make a Locomotive Engine, 18 Illustrations. How 
to make a Model Steamboat, 4 Illustrations. How to make a Steam 
Cylinder, 6 Illustrations. How to make a Cheap Rowing Boat, 5 
Illustrations. 

Part 3. How to make Paddle Wheels for a small boat, 5 Illustra- 
tions. How to make a Screw Propeller for a small boat, 3 Illustra- 
tions. How to make a Hydraulic Propeller for a small boat, 7 Illus- 
trations. How to build a Cheap Canoe, 5 Illustrations. How to 
make and work an Electric Telegraph, 6 Illustrations. How to make 
a cheap Vertical Drilling Machine, 2 Illustrations. How to make a 
Simple Galvanic Battery. How to make a Diorama, 2 Illustrations. 
How to make a clock for twenty-five cents, 4 Illustrations. Home- 
made Brackets, 6 Illustrations. Hanging Portfolio, 1 Hlustration. 
Parisian Whatnot, 1 Illustration. How to make Balloons. Gilding 
on Glass. 

Part 4. How to make a Calcium Light, 2 Illustrations. Art of 
making Fire-works, 8 Hlustrations. How to make a Magic Lantern, 
and paint the Slides. How to 'make an Aquarium, 3 Illustrations. 
How to make an Achromatic Telescope, 2 Illustrations. Glass Blow- 
ing for Boys, 2 Illustrations. 

Part 5. Electrotyping — Electricity ; simple, cheap apparatus ; 
Moulds ; Solutions ; to make a Medallion ; Zinc ; Copper ; Circuits ; 
Our Experiment ; Positive ; Negative ; Action of the Acids ; Various 
Batteries ; Weights Deposited ; the Lead Tree ; Quantity ; Intensity; 
Arrangement of Cells ; Uses of Electricity ; Elastic Moulds ; Copying 
of Busts or Statuettes ; to prepare the Moulds ; the Soluble Mould ; 
a Better Plan ; a Cast in Plaster ; a Cast in Wax ; to prepare the 
Figure ; the Copper Mould ; divided Moulds ; Electro Deposits for 
Natural Objects — 21 Illustrations. 

Price, 25 cents per part, or $1.00 the set. 

Sent by mail, on receipt of the price, by 

Happy Hours Company, Publishers, 

No. 1 CHAMBERS STREET, NEW YORK. 



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